


Lotus

by Poppelganger



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Angst, Buddhism, F/M, Haircuts, Horror, Letters, Minor Hagi/Original Female Character - Freeform, Original Character Death(s), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-04-12 10:02:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 45,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4475168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poppelganger/pseuds/Poppelganger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story goes that there's a woman who cuts hair for ghouls in the 11th ward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Urban legends are exchanged like currency in the 11th ward, traded over trash can bonfires and whispered at the casual bumping of shoulders on a busy sidewalk. Humans and ghouls both tell the same stories—new arrivals and asylum-seekers, doves staking out the main drag, the ward head's latest scandals—because every little rumor is worth its weight in gold, the difference between surviving the night or ending up another statistic in the following morning's news report.

The stories going around lately are a little more ominous than usual, whispers of a ghoul who's making a little too much noise, fearmongering spread by the alphas of the territory and sensational newspaper headlines that have the words " _Binge Eater"_  on everyone's lips. There's talk of enforcing a curfew and closing major highways, but with every proposed precaution, there are critics insisting that  _this isn't the 13_ _th_ _ward, shouldn't you be doing that kind of thing over there?_

More mundane are claims that there's a human who cuts hair for little to nothing, a recluse who's transformed her one-room apartment into a tiny salon, and that ghouls are among her clientele. There's talk of ghouls in the subway, waiting until the last train leaves to come out of the tunnels and drag unsuspecting victims into the dark. They say the world below Tokyo is not one humans belong in.

As it turns out, the story about the hairstylist is true.

The apartment in question is down the street from a brothel poorly disguised as a nightclub, where CCG Investigators tend to just look the other way because they have more important things to worry about. Up the stairs to the second floor and at the end of the walkway, there's a leaking air conditioning unit jammed beneath a window spiderwebbed with cracks. It's here where the 11th ward's latest urban legend can be found.

Meika Kuno, as she is known by those who seek her out, looks just sickly enough to pass for a drug addict that she's usually left alone, and just coherent enough that people trust her with a pair of scissors. It's not that hairstylists are hard to come by in the 11th ward, but Meika is much less discerning in her clientele than a regular salon, and it's rumored she's never turned anyone down, no matter what, or who, they eat. She doesn't charge much because she can't—her salon is a one-room apartment with the kitchen portioned off by a shower curtain, her tools are cheap second-hand heirlooms, and her chairs are wooden crates that held rice wine bottles long ago. But for those with nowhere else to go, there isn't much room to complain.

Hagi, the 11th ward's self-proclaimed alpha, is just as fearsome as his reputation, six feet tall with scars carved into his face. He's told Meika during one of his numerous visits to her makeshift salon that he'd gotten them fighting Investigators, a whip-like qinque that smelled like an old friend and dug into his flesh with its barbs. She hadn't asked; he'd just told her. It's something people tend to do without even realizing when she has her fingers massaging their scalp. Her relationship with Hagi, however, is something a little different from her other clients.

"You've been spreading that crap around about me cutting hair for two hundred yen," she says as she rinses the last of the shampoo out of his hair and gives him a towel, "Not that I don't appreciate the business, Hagi, but I have to eat, too, you know?"

"Money's tight," he grunts, going to sit down on the crate with a cloth draped over it, the designated chair for clients, "Most of my boys do temp work running deliveries or doing heavy lifting, but with the doves cracking down, it's hard to even do that anymore."

Hagi runs the 11th ward like an organized crime ring, close-knit and secretive without drawing too much attention. Meika's always thought it was cute how he treated his followers like family, referring to them nearly affectionately, and cuter that he organized what was essentially a ghoul neighborhood watch party, but she was smart enough not to comment on it.

"So am I cutting your hair for two hundred yen now, too?" she asks dryly. She goes to sit behind him, a pair of scissors and a comb in hand, and begins smoothing through knots days old.

Hagi shrugs. "It doesn't matter, does it? I told you, if you need food, just let me know. I'll get you something."

Meika pauses. "I appreciate it," she says slowly, "But if you just pay me a more reasonable amount, I can go get my own—"

"No," he cuts her off with a sharp glare, "You can't. Kamishiro still isn't following the rules. I'm trying to be lenient, but if she eats you, I might just kill her."

Meika had heard about the drifter from Hagi long before the papers began frightening the ward's residents about the Binge Eater. If the news reports and the ward head Shikao Kurita's frantic appeal to the CCG for more Investigators were any indication, she'd almost overstayed her welcome.

"Kamishiro again, huh?" Meika says conversationally, "I heard they found another body last night. That makes, what, ten?"

Hagi groans. "That woman is going to be the death of me," he mutters.

"She goes to meetings, right?" Meika asks, "I'm kind of surprised you haven't set her straight yet. You getting soft on me?"

"No. But for me to come down on her that harshly this early on wouldn't be well-received," he sighs, "Some idiot is always jumping to her defense at meetings, claiming she's new, or she didn't know better, or some bullshit along those lines."

"Some idiot," Meika hums, "Wait, let me guess; it's Kazuichi."

"Got it in one."

"He's the only person I see as often as you," she explains, "He talks about her nonstop. It's kind of depressing, since I'm sure she doesn't give him the time of day."

"It's more infuriating than it is depressing. She could wipe the floor with him, she doesn't need him jumping to her defense, especially when she's in the wrong."

When she finishes trimming his hair, she rests a hand on his shoulder. "You had a long day," she murmurs, "Shoulders are tense. Want a massage?"

Her only warning is the tensing of his muscles under her hand; she blinks and she's sprawled over the table with Hagi's narrow eyes burning into her from above. "A massage isn't going to be enough for today," he says, voice dropping an octave.

"Oh," she breathes, and smiles when he comes in for a kiss.

It doesn't last long. It never does; Hagi is always in a hurry, like this is just something he has to do now and then, and itch he needs scratched, and just wants to get it over with, and Meika goes days at a time without company and weeks without being touched so she keens the moment his hands are on her bare skin. The table digs into her back, but she stays where she is and just tries to hold onto him as long as he'll let her.

Afterwards, Hagi lingers, fingers idly running up Meika's back, but the gesture is more automatic than anything. He's told her a thousand times not to think too much about what they do together, mostly because he knows she's always looking for something that isn't really there, something on top of the trust they've carefully built until now that Hagi thinks is more than enough on its own.

He redresses and goes to get a blanket to put around her shoulders, then begins to leave without a word. "Hagi," Meika calls, and he hesitates in the doorway, turning back to look at her. Her neck and shoulders are littered with red blotches and teeth, places where she tasted just a little too good.

_"You get it now, right?" he'd said once when he'd had to go get bandage wraps after biting a small chunk out of her shoulder and his breath had been labored as he tried to restrain himself, "You get why this isn't a good idea?"_

"Come back soon, okay?" she asks, "Even if it's not for a haircut, just drop by and visit. I'll feel better if I know you're alive."

"I'll be fine, Meika," he says, exterior hardening again into something unreadable. Once he's out that door, they're not friends anymore; he's a ghoul, the leader of the 11th ward, and he can't give her any special treatment.

Meika leans her head against the table and breathes the smell of where she and Hagi had just been.


	2. Chapter 2

Kazuichi Banjou is not very strong for a ghoul.

Meika could really guess just by looking at him. It's partly because of the way he carries himself and the way he dresses and talks, playing the part of a delinquent when he's one of the kindest people she knows. He always acts as though he has to prove himself when other ghouls are around. It makes sense, then, that he'd wander into Meika's apartment even more than Hagi, since it gives him somewhere he feels he can relax.

She startles to attention at the sound of knocking on her door but relaxes when Kazuichi announces his presence on the other side; he's the only person she knows who does that. She slides the deadbolt out of place, unhooks the chain from her door and pushes another heavy crate out of the way.

The precautions are worthless against anything that stands a real threat against her; if a ghoul really wanted to break in, a few locks wouldn't stop it. It's more for peace of mind than practicality. Kazuichi stands outside with his hands in his pockets, and Meika waves him inside before locking the door again.

"How's it going?" she asks, assembling her supplies on her kitchen counter as Kazuichi takes off his jacket and leaves it on the table.

"Alright," he says, but doesn't sound it.

"Kamishiro turn you down?" she teases, but frowns when he falls silent.  _Well, shit._  "Sorry, Banjou."

"'S okay," he mutters, putting his head in the sink. Meika starts the water, trying to think of something else to talk about, but Kazuichi doesn't change the subject. "I guess I shouldn't be all that surprised, right? I mean, Rize's so independent, you know? She probably wants her space 'n all. I get that." Meika hums to show she's listening, untangling his hair and massaging shampoo into his scalp. "She's so strong, but it's not just that. She's smart, too."

"Well, she has to be," Meika mutters, "Considering she's killed almost a dozen people and still hasn't gotten caught." Kazuichi is quiet for a minute and she laughs, trying to ease the tension. "I mean," she says, "Yeah, she's smart. She's real smart."

"Sorry, Meika," he says quietly, "It's so easy to talk to you. I forget you're not a ghoul sometimes, and I just…" He sighs. "Sorry."

"It's fine," she says. She knows humans are what ghouls eat. Killing as many as Rize does in such a short amount of time isn't morally problematic, it's just bad for the other ghouls living in the ward who are trying to be careful, just overhunting. Truthfully, sometimes she forgets that Kazuichi isn't human, too, because of how soft-hearted he can be, which makes these kinds of conversations even more unsettling until she stops to think about it.

Meika rinses his head and turns off the water, and Kazuichi towels himself off. "So tell me what's new," she says, "You had a ward meeting with Hagi, right?"

He nods, following her back to the table. "Yeah. It was tense, as usual. He's really hard on Rize."

Meika smiles. "You know he's got a lot on his shoulders, being the leader of the ward. He can't be too soft on anyone, or soon, everybody'll be breaking the rules."

Kazuichi chuckles. "You know, Meika, as much as you give me shit about Rize, you're not exactly subtle, either."

Her hands freeze.

Kind as always, Kazuichi turns slightly to glance at her over his shoulder. "Sorry," he says, "That was a little—!"

She shakes her head with a laugh. "I just wasn't expecting it. You don't have to apologize, anyway, Banjou. You're just being honest. Now we're even, right? Since we're both hopeless."

He smiles sadly. "Guess so."

Meika clears her throat to break the silence. "So, the meeting?"

"Right, right. Uh, nothing special." Kazuichi looks tense again. "But that reminds me, there's something you should know."

"Yeah?"

"Rize's…well…I thinks she's gonna go hunting again soon."

Meika swears when she accidentally cuts too close to Kazuichi's ear but manages to stop her fingers. She's more concerned for her scissors than for him—she'd slipped and was sure she'd cut his ear one time when he'd sneezed, only to have her scissors bent at an unusable angle. "Soon?" she repeats, "How do you know?"

"Just a hunch," he says, "I mean, she kinda has a pattern. Just wanted you to know."

"Thanks for the heads up," Meika says, "I wouldn't be going anywhere, anyway. Hagi's being funny about letting me leave my own apartment again."

"Yeah, I kind of figured. But be careful anyway," he says. "If she knows you're home, she might, uh, you know…."

"I know. I'll be careful." Meika steps back to admire her work. "You're done, by the way."

"Thanks." Kazuichi stands up but doesn't leave immediately. "How do you do it?" he asks hesitantly, as if afraid of being rude, "Staying inside for so long, I mean. I'd go crazy if I couldn't go outside for two weeks."

"Two weeks is just an estimate," she says, "If things get better, I can leave sooner. If not, I stay in longer. And it's really not so bad. I'm a homebody anyway."

"Doesn't it get lonely?"

Meika shrugs. "No. I still get clients like you. Honestly, other than you guys, I don't really have a whole lot of friends, so things aren't that different."

Kazuichi shrugs and leaves two hundred yen on the table, heading for the door.

"Oh, hey, Banjou," Meika calls at the last minute, "Do me a favor and tell Hagi I'm gonna need groceries soon."

"Sure thing," he says and he leaves, "See you."

She turns on the TV for background noise as she washes the counter, listening to yet another disappearance being reported. It's not as if Rize alone is the problem; the number of ghouls in the 11th ward has increased, and Hagi's control is slipping. Things are changing, and she doesn't think it's for the better.

She hopes she lasts long enough to see how it ends.


	3. Chapter 3

It's the early evening, and slits of sunlight fall across Meika's empty living room, wrapped around a fallen soda can spilling onto the table, abandoned in haste. Light, delicate knocking rings out in the silence, accompanied by a soft voice calling, "Meika! Are you home? We should go get dinner somewhere."

Meika doesn't answer. She's huddled in her bathtub in the washroom with her hands over her head as though bracing for an earthquake.

_"Just hide," Kazuichi told her once, "And stay calm, or she'll hear your breathing, or your heartbeat."_

Meika had asked him if he could just tell Rize not to eat her, and he'd gotten this pained expression on his face. No, of course he couldn't; that was asking for too much. She considers herself Kazuichi's friend, but their friendship ranks below his feelings for Rize, who lives in the same apartment complex and occasionally bumps into Meika on her way back from a night out, smiling coyly as she walks by, the scent of blood on the wind that follows her. Rize is one of the few people Meika is genuinely afraid of because of how unpredictable she is. Before being confined to her apartment by Hagi, she'd occasionally gone out for coffee with Rize or even had her over to cut her hair, and the ghoul seemed to enjoy the company like one enjoys the company of a small dog. She treated Meika less like a friend and more like a cute pet she rented out on weekends, and Meika hadn't minded, because she enjoyed the company, too.

But when Rize is hunting, all of that changes.

The trick is knowing when she's hunting. So far, Meika has figured out that if she's inviting her to do anything that ghouls wouldn't normally do, she shouldn't answer the door.

_"She doesn't waste time on anything that puts up too much resistance initially," Kazuichi had explained, "So if she comes by, just pretend you aren't home, and eventually, she'll go find someone else."_

Now, whenever she hears a soft humming coming down the walkway towards her door, she drops whatever she's doing, runs for the bathroom, and hides until Rize's gone, because she isn't sure how much resistance is enough to lose her interest and doesn't want to risk finding out that it wasn't enough. After Hagi's declared it safe again, they'll inevitable run into each other when Rize comes home finally sated, and the ghoul will speak as though they're old friends. "Oh, Meika, I must've just missed you," she'll say, "How about we get together tomorrow for coffee?" and Meika will smile tightly and agree, and then run back home just in case.

"Meika? Aren't you home today?" she hears, "Come on, we should hang out!"

_"Why does she keep coming back?" Meika asked Kazuichi once, her tone coming out much more biting than she'd intended._

_He'd shrugged. "I dunno. I guess you must look…tasty." The last word comes out hesitantly, from a carnivore who has grown accustomed to keeping a pet suddenly remembering he could kill and eat it._

"There's a place downtown doing an all you can eat special tonight!" Rize calls.

Meika squeezes her eyes shut and waits for her to leave.

*

A sharp knock at the door later that night has Meika nearly jump out of her skin, but she creeps over to the door and checks through the peephole to find Hagi with a bag of groceries in one arm. She lets out the breath she was holding and opens the door. "Thanks," she says, "Just set them down in the kitchen, I can put it all away myself."

He does as she asks but turns to look at her suspiciously afterwards, eyes narrowed. "What's wrong?" he asks, "Your heart was beating really fast when I knocked."

"Ah. Well." Meika leans back against the counter, trying to relax. Hagi isn't someone she can easily hide things from. "It was Kamishiro," she admits.

Hagi makes a low sound in his throat like a dog growling territorially, and Meika puts her hands up. "But look, I'm fine," she says quickly, "I'm not hurt or anything. She didn't come in."

"You didn't  _let_  her in," Hagi corrects, "You had to hide. She'd have broken down your door if she knew you were home." His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, and Meika can see them start to shake with barely-controlled rage. "I've told her," he mutters, "I've told her over and over again not to hunt where she lives, that it would draw too much attention, and she just doesn't listen."

"Hagi, it's okay," she tells him, "Calm down. It's no big deal."

Poor choice of words, she realizes. Hagi's gaze shifts to meet hers and she sees firsthand the intimidating glare that so many ghouls fear in the 11th ward. "Not a big deal?" he repeats heatedly, taking a step towards her. Meika takes two back. "We're talking about disobedience in  _my_  ward. I'm sick of her bullshit, and this is the last straw. I'm gonna confront her."

She doesn't argue with him, because she really doesn't want to. Honestly, Kamishiro has been causing trouble, and the ward would probably be better off without her, not to mention Meika could go outside again without Hagi throwing a fit. Kazuichi will be moping for weeks, but he'll find someone else to chase, she's sure.

"Hagi," Meika says softly, stopping him as he's standing in the doorway. She pauses, unsure of how to continue. She'd wanted to express her appreciation of the way he's always looking out for her, and for the groceries, and for all of his hard work in the 11th ward, but then her feelings started to creep in, and she finds herself thinking about other things.

"I love you" is a bad idea. She's gone there before, and Hagi was less than pleased.

_"Meika, don't ever say that to me again," he'd said, hands firmly on her shoulders as he bent slightly to meet her gaze, "I like you, and I respect you, but let's not make this complicated, alright?"_

By complicated, he meant jeopardizing his leadership. He can't afford to invest feelings in their relationship, after all. Declaring a penalty for eating her based on her contributions to the ward is already going into dangerous territory.

"Thanks," she says in the end, "For the food and everything."

Hagi glances back at her and gives a wordless nod before leaving.

She figures it'll be a few days before the backlash dies down enough for him to visit again.

*

The next day, Meika doesn't get any customers. She has the TV on in the background while she prepares a cup of instant ramen and works on a crossword puzzle taking the shape of a bird. She's so engrossed in it that she doesn't notice the newscaster reporting another three corpses found downtown in bits and pieces, all ghouls, with evidence on the scene pointing towards ghoul-on-ghoul violence.

*

A week passes and Hagi still doesn't come back. Meika has a few tight-lipped regulars come in, but none of them are feeling very talkative so she keeps her questions to herself.

He'll be back tomorrow, she tells herself, sour-faced as always.

For some reason, she has a terrible, foreboding feeling.

*

Her groceries run out, and Meika slings her purse over her shoulder and heads for the door, prepared to take on Hagi's bitching that's sure to follow when he crawls out of whatever hole he's in. But before she gets to the door, someone knocks and announces their presence—Kazuichi. She finds him frowning and looking extremely uncomfortable, like he doesn't really want to be there.

"Hey," he says awkwardly.

Meika raises a brow. "You gonna be all weird, too, or are you gonna tell me what's going on around here?"

"Uh…what do you mean?"

"All of my clients this last week have been really quiet," she says, "Which can only mean there's a big problem. I haven't seen Hagi in a while, so I'm sure he's busy trying to fix whatever it is, but could you tell him to come visit or at least bring food?"

Kazuichi nervously raises a bag of assorted food from the convenience store, handing it to her. "Figured you'd be out by now."

Meika narrows her eyes. "Banjou, what the hell is going on?"

"Look, it's…Hagi's not…not coming back." He pauses, letting the words sink in. "Rize…Rize killed him. She was on her way out of the ward when he confronted her, and…."

Meika doesn't hear the rest.

Hagi? Dead? Killed by somebody? It doesn't sound right. He's too strong for that. He's the territory leader, after all. How could he have held the ward together if he wasn't strong enough to win in a fight?

Just what kind of a monster is Rize Kamishiro?

Kauzichi is still standing there, watching for her reaction. Meika takes a deep breath. "Sorry, Banjou," she says with a smile stretched painfully across her face, "I need some time to myself. If you could let people know I'll take clients again starting tomorrow, I'd appreciate it."

"Sure thing," he says, "You let me know if I can help at all, okay?"

"I will, thanks."

"Be careful."

The door shuts, and Meika is alone again. She's been alone this whole week, and the week before. She's usually alone when she doesn't have a client, so it's not as if she's not used to it. But it's never hurt the way it does now.

With her back against the door, she slides down to the ground, curls into a ball, and cries.

*

_"Hey." Meika, sixteen years old at the time, had squinted when she noticed the boy leaning against a graffiti-covered wall in a leather jacket and torn jeans, wearing stupid-looking shades despite it being nighttime, bangs long and shaggy. She was just passing by on her way back from the convenience store, arms full of soda cans and pre-made boxed lunches. "You should seriously cut your hair. You look dumb with it all hanging in your face like that." Tact was something she learned later on._

_She couldn't see his eyes behind the dark glasses, but she could practically feel it when he glared at her. "You know a hairstylist around here who won't charge an arm and a leg?" he growled._

_She grinned. "Yeah; I won't."_

_He raised a brow. "You?"_

_"Yeah, me. You think I'm lying?"_

_"You look younger than me."_

_She rolled her eyes. "My mom worked in a salon, so I learned from her. I can bring her stuff if you meet me back here, but we're gonna need a sink, so maybe we should go to your place. Your hair looks like it needs a wash, too."_

_The boy was silent, eyes roving over her appraisingly. "You're a little too trusting," he said finally, but he was smiling just a bit, "Shouldn't you be more careful than that? Just following strangers home?"_

_Meika shrugged. "You look harmless."_

_"Then you're not very good at reading people."_

_He didn't argue with her any further, though, and thinking back on it, Meika is pretty sure he'd planned to eat her that night._

_But in the end, he didn't, and she had all sorts of imaginary reasons why that might have been, none of which matter anymore._


	4. Chapter 4

The world keeps on turning, even without Hagi in it.

Meika feels like it isn’t fair.

A couple quiet weeks go by.  She’s still half-asleep when Kazuichi knocks on her door one morning, early enough that the sun hasn’t risen over the horizon yet.  She’s hesitant to untangle herself from the nest of blankets she huddled in over the table the previous night, but another, louder knock has her on her feet. 

She throws the door open, a cup of instant coffee in her free hand.  Kazuichi’s expression becomes distressed when he sees the dark circles under her half-lidded, bloodshot eyes and the fine tremor in her fingers as she shakily brings the cup to her lips for another sip.  She’s wearing sweatpants and a tank top without a bra underneath, and he respectfully doesn’t let his gaze wander too low.  She could almost laugh; Kazuichi is too nice for the sort of life he leads.

“You’re early,” she notes, backing up to let him in and then dropping down at the table to rest her weight on one elbow.  “You’re gonna have to give me a minute to really wake up.”

“You okay?” he asks slowly, “Not sure I want your hands anywhere near my hair if they’re doing that.”

“It’ll stop soon,” she assures him, taking another long gulp.

He drops down on the crate across from her, eyes full of concern.  “I wasn’t sure you’d be up, actually.”

“Having trouble sleeping.  A lot’s happened.”

“A lot?  Like what?”

“Other than Hagi,” she says, pausing when he averts his gaze almost guiltily, “My neighbors have been talking about me lately.  Guess having clients in here at all hours of the day is finally getting a little suspicious.  I hope nobody calls the CCG.”

Kazuichi noticeably tenses at the mention of the name.

Meika rolls her shoulders until they give a satisfying pop, and then stands to assemble her workstation, abandoning her half-empty coffee.  She calls him over to the sink once she finds her shampoo and has him lean in face-first.  “Alright, your turn,” she says, “Tell me something interesting.  How’re things on your end?”

“Not great,” he says, “Hagi really held things together around here.  Ward’s starting to go to shit without him.  People have been seeing a lot of doves around, too, more than usual.  Probably scrambling so the 11th ward doesn’t turn into the 13th.”

“It’d have to get pretty fucking bad for that,” Meika scoffs, starting the water and raking a hand over his scalp, “You thinking of leaving?  Maybe following Rize?”

He’s silent for a moment as she lathers shampoo in her hands.  “No.  I thought I’d stay,” he says at last, “She told me something the day she left, you know.  She called me “leader.”  Said she thought she could leave the ward with me.  So I think I’m gonna try it.  Keeping the peace, and all that.”

Meika gives a sharp bark of laughter before it even crosses her mind that she’s being insensitive.  “Yeah, okay.  You do that.”

Kazuichi frowns.  “I’m serious.”

“My condolences, then.  I’m not trying to make fun of you, Banjou, but the ward going to shit isn’t news.  Even before Hagi died—”

 _Killed by your girlfriend,_ she thinks bitterly, shaking her head,

“—things were getting worse.”

“I gotta try, though, right?”

Meika almost tells him that no, he absolutely does not need to undertake something so hopeless, but he’s got this tone that he gets whenever he talks about Rize, all dreamy and elated, and she knows she won’t be able to change his mind.  “Yeah,” she agrees with a sigh, “Guess someone has to.”

She rinses his hair and puts a towel around his shoulders, ushering him back to the table.  “Hey, Banjou,” she asks suddenly, “What’s it taste like?”

He plays dumb, eyes widening a bit.  “What…what’s what taste like?”

“Wow, I wonder.  What’s the only thing you eat?”

He hesitates.  “It’s hard to explain,” he says, “I mean, to me it’s good, but you probably wouldn’t like it.”

“But what does it taste like?  Is it sweet?  Savory?  A little salty?”

“Depends…”  _On the person,_ he doesn’t say, but Meika imagines she hears it.  “Why?  You…you wanna try it or something?”

She shrugs.  “You know I live on a diet of cup ramen and fermented soybeans; mixing it up wouldn’t be so bad.  Remember that time you tried a bowl on a dare?  I thought I’d never get the smell of vomit out of here.  I aired this place out for three weeks.”

“To be fair, every food you eat is going to taste awful to me.”

“Yeah,” she laughs, “But that in particular tastes awful to me, too.”

Kazuichi looks at her warily.  “I mean, if you’re serious….”

“I was kidding, Banjou.  I’m not going to eat anyone.”

“I’m just making sure.  I heard there was a human around here who tried once.”

“Yeah, and the investigators came knocking and ripped him into unrecognizable pieces.  Said they ‘just needed to be sure.’  If the CCG hates ghouls who eat humans, there’s not a word to describe how they feel about _humans_ who eat humans.”  She smiles.  “Which is a real shame, because otherwise, I’d give it a shot.  Sometimes I get tired of soybeans and cup noodles.”

“You’ve always been a little weird, Meika.  Even we’re a little uncomfortable about cannibalism.”

Meika shrugs.  “Ghouls still eat their own kind sometimes, don’t they?  Isn’t the 13th ward famous for that?”  She makes a few quick snips.  “And done.  Now go keep the peace or whatever.”

He stands up, but hesitates to leave, fishing through his pocket for his wallet.  “Here,” he says, handing her a few bills, “Treat yourself.”

“Whoa, this is a lot more than two hundred yen.”

“Humans need to eat balanced meals, right?” he asks, “So ramen and soybeans all the time can’t be good.  And all that coffee…you drink more than I do.”

“Food,” she scoffs, snatching the money from him.  “Ha!  Who needs it?”

“Meika.”

“I heard you.”  Her expressions oftens.  “Thanks.  Hey, and Mr. Leader?  Why don’t you start telling everyone to follow your example and pay me a little more?”

He gives a genuine smile at that, the first one she’s seen on him in a while, one that tells her he isn’t broken yet.  “Be careful,” he says as he leaves, like always.

“You, too,” Meika says in turn, wondering if things might turn out alright after all.

Even without Hagi.

*

There’s an unsettling silence in the 11th ward, different from the time spent mourning Hagi’s passing.  Humans, too, are silent as they hurry home, unwilling to outside any longer than necessary.  When she reaches the convenience store a few blocks away, she overhears a pair of middle-aged women speaking in hushed tones by a magazine rack, muttering about Shikao Kurita, the ward head.

“I heard on the news last night that he’s working with the CCG to get things under control around here,” one says.

The other scoffs, “The hell he is.  If things were actually getting better, don’t you think he’d be here instead of hiding in his penthouse in the 12th ward?”

Meika sets her purchases down on the counter and the young man working the register rings her up.

“I’m getting out of here,” she hears the first woman say, “Before the whole ward comes crumbling down.  You should, too.”

Her friend lets out a sound of agreement.  “Believe me, I will.  Anyone with any sense isn’t going to stick around.”

Meika inwardly laughs as she sets the money Kazuichi gave her down on the counter and takes her change.  “Guess I’ve got no sense,” she mutters, taking her bagged groceries and leaving. 

A man called Tanaka who lost his job in the recession and never got back on his feet sits by his stolen shopping cart that holds his entire life just outside the train station.  “Meika,” he calls out to her with a wave, and hurriedly pulls a slip of paper out of his pocket, “Tracked down that place you were looking for.”

“Thanks so much,” she says, fishing through her bag for the box of rice balls handing it to him in exchange for the paper.  She glances down at the string of numbers and an address scrawled on it and smiles.  “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

“I think I can guess.”

She laughs.  “Hear anything interesting lately?”

He looks up appreciatively, opening the box and immediately tearing into the food.  “Not a lot,” he says between mouthfuls, “Those suits say they’re “mobilizing,” like always.  Hear they got quite the scare the other night; someone broke into the CCG’s northern branch office.”

“Broke in?  That’s all?  They didn’t take anything or kill anyone?”

Tanaka shrugs.   “That’s what I heard.”

 _Broke in,_ she muses.  If it were a human, she’d expect little more than vandalism, but it seems strange that someone would just break in and leave.  Almost like they were testing the waters, seeing if they could do it.

“How’ve you been?” Tanaka asks, “You been taking care of yourself?  You look a little skinny.”  He grabs her wrist with a frown.  “And your hands are shaking.”

“Too much caffeine and not enough sleep.”

“What’re you doing that for?”

“Lost someone.”

His expression softens.  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

She cracks a humorless smile.  “I’ll live.”

“Don’t do that, Meika.  You always bottle everything up.”

“It’s been a few weeks; I’ve had time to mourn.”

His stare is hard, fixed on the dark circles and redness around her eyes.  “Go home,” he says, shooing her away, “Get some sleep.  Your mother would be furious if she knew how you do your mourning.”

“Alright, _Dad_.”  The words are playful with a touch of affection, and Tanaka smiles almost proudly.

“I can’t claim the honor.”

“Might as well; you were always better at it than my real one.”

“That’s not hard to do.”

She laughs.  “Fair enough.  Take care.”

“You, too.”

Tanaka settles in with his food and Meika glances back at him worriedly.  Humans aren’t at the top of the food chain by any means, but the homeless of Tokyo are in a particularly dangerous position, ignored by the government and, if the rumors are to be believed, allowed to loiter where it was once forbidden to serve as one last line of defense for other citizens.  Tanaka hasn’t had the same neighbors for more than a few months at a time, since vagabonds don’t feel comfortable staying in the same place for so long, but it doesn’t make much of a different where they go.  They’re food, ambling about when the rest of the 11th ward is tucked away safely in their homes for the night.  It’s only a matter of time before she’ll have to do some more mourning.

She rids herself of the thought and hurries home, taking out the slip of paper and carefully reading over the number written on it before making a phone call.  There are only two rings before a man answers with a gruff, “Hello?”

“Hi, I’m calling to enquire about a storage unit,” Meika says, trying to sound professional, “I was recommended to you by a friend.  May I ask where you’re located?”

“Thirteenth ward,” the man replies, and Meika’s frown deepens.  There aren’t words to properly describe the state of affairs in the 13th ward.  The ghouls there are nearly feral, unrestrained by the laws of civilization and ruled only by whichever among them has killed the most.  Efforts to place the local CCG branch as the new governing body in a last ditch effort to reclaim the ward ended in failure when they were completely decimated in a number of nights.  Every business left has been bought out by criminal organizations and their subsidiaries who operate freely with no law enforcement in the way.  The ward is famous for ghoul cannibalism and most remaining human residents are assumed to be human fugitives from the law looking to disappear for a while.  The average person has no reason to go there.

But Meika has already made up her mind.

“Oh.”  She recovers quickly.  “Well, I was wondering if you had any lockers whose owners haven’t come back for a while.”

“You looking to buy?”

Meika hesitates.  “Yeah.”

“Well, we’ve got plenty of those,” the man goes on, and Meika hears some rustling on the other end of the line.  “Standard pricing is ￥80,000 for all the contents.  We’ve got full-size and half-size—!”

“Is there a locker there that used to belong to Lin Zhou?” Meika interrupts.

The man falls silent for a moment.  Then he asks, very quietly, “You a cop?”

“No.”

“CCG?”

“No,” Meika repeats, exasperated, “I just want to buy her locker.  Did she have one there or not?”

“Yeah, she had one.”

“80,000’s a bit steep, though, can you go for 60,000?”

“I don’t haggle,” the man says dryly, “80,000, take it or leave it.”

Meika bites her lip.  “I’ll be by sometime,” she says, and hangs up.  Her relief at finally tracking down her mother’s belongings is washed away by disappointment—she doesn’t have that kind of money.  But she’s so close now, closer than she’s ever been before, and she decides she’ll just have to get it from somewhere.


	5. Chapter 5

The 11th ward’s slow decline accelerates seemingly without warning as a surge of outsiders pours in, slaughtering all the resistance they find.  Kazuichi’s visits become infrequent and his demeanor solemn as he brings more and more bad news.  He loses the northern edge of the border, and piece by piece, highway by highway, he’s pushed back into his own territory.  Shikao Kurita’s approval rating falls to an all-time low as the public scrambles for somebody—anybody—to blame for the constant violence, the nightly hunts, the late response by the CCG, and the loss of the ward to the ghouls.  Quietly, roadblocks appear, train stops are no longer served, and panic settles in as the 11th ward’s residents realize they’re being cut off from the rest of Tokyo.  Nobody says it out loud because they don’t want to acknowledge it, but they know it’s the 13th ward all over again.

Meika used to be hesitant to leave her apartment during the day, but it’s a necessity now.  Nighttime is unquestionably more dangerous, the cover of darkness giving ghouls an edge over their bumbling prey, hunting by the scent of flesh and the sound of quickened heartbeats. 

And yet there’s an unpleasantness unique to the day as well.  It’s no secret that the Investigators are being hunted; the northern branch office was razed in the middle of the night, and by morning, there were only cinders and bloodstains.  It’s made the survivors overeager, constantly looking for fights as they slam wayward drunks and vagrants against the wall and glare down anyone who gets in the way, anything to make them feel like they’re in control again.

She’s had Investigators at her door twice in the last week alone, her increasingly paranoid neighbors worrying about all of the strangers on her doorstep.  She’s been let off because of the implausibility of having ghoul visitors; surely she’d be dead by now if that were the case.  Still, the rumors persist, and Meika sees fewer human customers.  She thinks it’s only a matter of time before she’ll be called to one of the remaining branch offices to submit to a blood test and prove her humanity.

The shelves of her preferred convenience store are perpetually half-empty, yet another sign that the rest of Tokyo has given up on them as food shipments come in less often.  Meika buys as much food as she can carry, glancing around in what’s probably a suspicious manner for anyone holding a briefcase.

She sets a brisk pace home until she passes the train stop closest to the store, overhearing Tanaka and one of his neighbors he shares the block with talking, but it dies down to whispers when she comes closer.  The neighbor glances at her distrustfully and returns to their own corner of the sidewalk, but Tanaka beckons her over.  “They found a nest,” he mutters, “Bunch of ghouls hiding out in the subway.  Suits went in to smoke ‘em out, but nobody’s come back out since.”

She glances warily at the entrance to the train station.  “How long ago did that happen?”

“Two, three hours, maybe.  They told us to clear out and keep our distance, but there’s no point now.”  He shrugs.  “They probably tore each other apart.  I doubt anybody’s coming out of there.”  She thanks him and sets change on the ground, but he hands it back before she can leave.  “Keep it.”

“You told me something interesting so I gotta pay you back,” she insists, “That’s how it works here.”

Tanaka meets her eyes and she flinches at how tired and defeated he looks.  “Not for much longer.  Things are changing around here, Meika.  It’s gonna be every man for himself soon.”

“This isn’t the 13th ward,” Meika says, “I know Kurita’s incompetent, but he can’t afford to let us down if he wants to keep his job.  It’ll work out.”

Tanaka’s mouth is set in a thin line, but he nods.  “We’ll see.”  Meika’s frown eases when he pats her on the head the way a father might ruffle his daughter’s hair.  “You take care of yourself.  Don’t worry about other people.”

“Okay,” she says, “You, too.”

He gives a weary smile creased by wrinkles on a face too young to have them, and Meika heads back home, hoping for once he isn’t right.

*

Meika is used to coming home to an eerily quiet and empty apartment, so she hardly registers the silhouette of somebody in her kitchen until she turns the light on.  The face she finds—but only half, because of the red, angular mask covering his mouth—makes her freeze in the doorway.  Her eyes trail from the door behind her, which was locked when she came back, to the window that isn’t any more broken than it was before, and back to the man standing in her apartment, who just stares back.  She doesn’t know how he got in, but a terrifying thought strikes her as she remembers Tanaka mentioning somebody breaking into the northern branch office of the CCG not long before everything went to hell.

She swallows the hot ball of fear in her throat.  _Is this the same guy?  What is he doing here?_

The stranger is a few heads taller, looking down at her with red eyes, and he’s strikingly pale from head to toe; white hair, a pale complexion, and a pristinely white coat.  He’s a ghoul, she knows, even without any evidence, because even though the whites of his eyes look the way they’re supposed to, there’s something about ghouls that she can’t put a word to just yet, something she’s picked up on after cutting their hair for years.  She can tell by looking that he’d eat her if she gave him half a chance.

She only realizes they’ve both been standing in silence, staring at each other, when he shifts ever so slightly, and it really sinks in that there’s a living, breathing ghoul that she didn’t let into her apartment standing there.

“Hi,” she says, at a loss for anything more intelligent, “Can I help you?”

He regards her coolly.  “I’m here investigating a rumor,” he says, his voice much softer than she expected, “Are you a hairstylist?”

She nods.

“And are you,” he pauses, coming a step closer, “Shall we say, _indiscriminate_ with your clientele?”

Meika looks at him carefully as she suddenly becomes hyper-aware of her surroundings; his height and build, the length of his arms, how long it would take for him to catch her if she tried to run.  She gives an uneasy smile.  “There’s a rumor like that going around, isn’t there?” she says, setting her groceries down on the counter without ever breaking eye contact.  When he doesn’t reply, she goes to sit down—slowly, afraid a sudden movement might set him off.  He joins her at the table a moment later, settling into the crate on the other side, still holding her gaze.  “You’re not from around here, then?” she prompts, the silence unsettling.

The stranger nods slowly.

She gives a tight smile.  “Well, the rumor is true.  I’m Meika, and I’m a ghoul hairstylist.  I mean, not just for ghouls, but…I guess that’s the case now.”

One of his arms rises, reaching across the table, and his long sleeve falls back revealing a pale hand.  “Tatara,” he says simply.  She hesitates a second before taking his hand to shake, tensing when his eyes narrow.  “You should know better than to take a ghoul’s hand if they offer it.”

“Are you gonna bite it off?” she asks with a nervous laugh.  He doesn’t answer.  She tries to pull her hand away but Tatara’s grip suddenly tightens.  She feels her heart beating faster, and she knows he can hear it.

“I don’t know if I believe you really cut hair for ghouls,” he says, “You look terrified.”  He starts bringing her hand closer to the tall collar of his coat—his mask, his mouth—and Meika realizes she might actually lose it if she doesn’t do something.

“Have you ever heard that story about the scorpion and the frog?” she asks shakily, stalling for time.

Tatara doesn’t let go, but he looks expectant. 

“There’s this scorpion that wants to cross a river,” she says, “He sees this frog, and he tells the frog to take him to the other side.  But the frog doesn’t want to, because he knows the scorpion’s just gonna sting him and kill him.  The scorpion tells him not to worry, because if he kills him, the frog would sink, and they’d both drown.”

She takes a deep breath, feeling more confident.  “So he talks the frog into it.  The scorpion climbs on his back and they start across the river.  Halfway there, the scorpion stings him anyway.  The frog dies, and they both drown.”

“Why?” Tatara asks.

“Because it’s just the scorpion’s nature.”

It’s quiet again.  The wail of police sirens speeding down the street below grows deafeningly loud before fading into a dim echo.  Vaguely, Meika recalls how ghouls from other wards have been coming in large numbers and massacring everything they come across.  “You’d better be careful who you say that to,” Tatara tells her, “Some of us might take it the wrong way if you tell them that killing humans is in their nature.”

“I don’t think I’m wrong, though.”

Tatara’s eyes lose just a bit of their predatory glint.  “Are you afraid or not?” he asks, “It’s hard to tell.”

“I’m terrified,” she admits, “I’ve been really lucky so far.  The old leader of this ward thought having a human hairdresser was kind of nice.”

“You got special treatment.”

“Something like that.”

Just like that, he lets ago, and Meika lets out the breath she was holding.  He stands from the table and steps around it, apparently having satisfied his curiosity.  “I can’t make any promises,” he says.

“What?” Meika asks, “What does that mean?”  She scrambles to her feet, following him to the door.  “Are you…are you the leader?”  He glances back over his shoulder.  “For all the ghouls who’ve started coming in from other wards, I mean.”

He doesn’t answer.  With one last lingering glance, he leaves, and Meika is still standing and staring at the door long after he’s gone, wondering how she managed to dodge yet another bullet, and how things are going to be with new ghouls who don’t know or respect her.  She wonders how long, realistically, she has left.

And, come to think of it, she also wonders how Tatara got into her apartment in the first place.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to come back and update here! Sorry! 
> 
> A big thank you to TrickedThem and renjutori for your messages!

It's the early morning and Meika is in the middle of brewing a cup of instant coffee in her microwave when a loud banging on her door rattles the lock and makes her heart leap into her throat. She hurries over to check the peephole and finds another stranger—despite the hood pulled up obscuring their face in shadows, she's pretty sure she's never seen them before—and briefly considers ignoring them.

"Hurry the fuck up and open the door," she hears, "I know you're there. I can hear you breathing."

So much for that.

With a steadying breath, she undoes all of her safety precautions and opens the door, only for her guest to brush right past her into the apartment without an invitation. She turns to look at him as she shuts and locks it again. It's just a kid; he can't be out of high school. He's also covered in blood; there's some caked to his boots, spotting his jacket, and a smear on his chin. He's a good head shorter than her but he glares up defiantly with eyes a haunting black and red. "So do you cut hair or what?" he snaps.

She frowns. "If you ask nicely."

She nearly bites her tongue when her back hits her door, head throbbing from the impact. The ghoul has her by the throat, their height difference having absolutely no bearing on their difference in strength. She scratches ineffectually at his wrist, trying to get him to let her go, or at the very least give her some air. "Tatara said we couldn't kill you yet," he growls, "He didn't say shit about being  _nice_."

 _Tatara,_  she recalls, an image of the tall, quiet ghoul from a few days earlier flashing in her head, before she processes a much more pressing matter.

_Yet?!_

"You're a fucking human," the ghoul says, letting her go, and she drops to the floor, coughing as she tries to get air back in her lungs and struggles to her feet, "You don't tell me what to do."

"My mistake," she says dryly, gesturing towards the table, "Have a seat."  _Fucking brat._

Apparently satisfied, the ghoul goes to sit down, taking her cushion rather than the crate. He yanks his hood down, revealing an unruly, indigo mess. Of course there's blood in it, and doubtlessly it isn't his. "Your hair needs to be washed before I run a comb through it," she says. He glares but thankfully doesn't argue, following her into the kitchen and leaning into the sink. "I'm Meika, by the way," she says, only half-expecting an answer in return.

"Ayato," he grumbles.

"Ayato?"

"Kirishima, to you."

"So, Kirishima, what brings you to the 11th ward?"

"None of your goddamn business."

She rolls her eyes.  _Just when I thought we were getting along so well._ "Sorry I asked. You mentioned Tatara, though."

"I didn't come here to make fucking small talk with you, just do my hair."

Meika resist the urge to suddenly adjust the temperature so it's freezing; Ayato seems like a loose canon, and she wouldn't be surprised if she loses a finger for showing anything even resembling disrespect. "Small talk is the best part of going to see a hairdresser, Kirishima."

"I'm not here by choice."

"You're…?" The implication is that someone couldn't take his disgusting, oily hair anymore and told him to get it taken care of. She has to cough to cover up her laughter, but Ayato must catch it, because he growls. "Ah. Sorry. I'll try to make this fast and painless, then."

Surprisingly—or unsurprisingly, considering how people tend to relax when she lathers their scalps with shampoo—he's the one who initiates conversation again a few minutes later. "How do you live in this shithole?"

"As in this apartment, or this ward?" she asks.

"Apartment," he says, and she thinks she  _almost_  hears a chuckle.

"Necessity. I can't afford a better one. It's really not so bad."

"Hn."

The last time she checked, ghouls—especially in wards with a strong CCG presence—didn't exactly live glamorous lifestyles, so he really has no room to judge. But as long as Ayato is feeling talkative, she figures she can try other topics. "So, Tatara said you can't kill me yet?"

"Don't push your luck," Ayato growls, "Piss me off enough and his word isn't going to save you."

"Duly noted." Meika stops the water and begins drying him off until he yanks the towel from her hands to do it himself. "Why bother with the 'yet' clause? Is he expecting a food shortage and wants to be prepared or something?"

"Goddamn, you're nosy."

"It's how I've lived this long."

The look on Ayato's face tells her it's not a good survival strategy with him, but he still answers. "Probably," he shrugs, "It's his business; doesn't really matter to me."

Meika brings her tools back to the table and sits on her knees behind Ayato as he rests the towel over his shoulders. "Is Tatara a friend of yours?" Ayato lets out a sharp laugh. "Your leader?" she tries again.

"We  _work_  together," he sneers, his tone suggesting that he's using the term very loosely. She cuts off his dead ends and stares at the harsh contrast the dark hair makes against her floor. "What're you so interested in him for?"

"Just curious," Meika says, "I used to know every ghoul in the ward. I don't get new faces in here very often, and I like to know who I'm dealing with."

"You better get used to it," he scoffs, "Most of your old clients are probably dead." He laughs. "Not enough room for all of us, after all."

His incredibly casual tone sends a shiver down her spine, and Meika decides that she's not fond of small talk with Ayato after all. "Turn around, please," she says. He complies, but when she combs through his bangs and moves to trim them, he grabs her wrist. "I was just—!"

"That's enough," he says, pushing up off the floor.

She glances up in disbelief. He really is just a child, stubbornly refusing to have his bangs cut. "Okay, fine," she says, putting her hands up in defeat, "You're done, then."

"Thank fuck," he mutters, hurriedly turning to leave.

"Hey, just a minute!" Meika calls when he's halfway out the door, "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Ayato raises a brow.

"You know," she prompts.

From his silence, he doesn't.

"You forgot to pay me."

"I didn't forget," he scoffs.

Meika sets the scissors down and stands at her full height, glaring him down. "Oh, so you're insinuating that you didn't forget because it was never your intention to pay, is that it?"

He shrugs.

"I've put up with your shit up to here, but that is not gonna fly."

Ayato goes from indifferent to angry in an instant, stomping back inside and letting the door slam behind him as he stalks over to her. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" he hisses.

Meika tries to hold her ground. "Someone who just did something nice for you and deserves some compensation."

"The hell you do," he spits, "I told you I don't give a shit what Tatara said; I  _will_  kill you if you act up. I don't know and I don't care how you did things around here before.  _I'm_ in charge now, and if I need to make an example out of you so all the humans in this fucking ward understand just what their place is, then I will."

Meika bites her tongue, knowing pay for a single haircut isn't worth her life, and Ayato turns on his heel, kicks her door open, breaking the chain lock, and storms out. She lets out a long sigh, relieved to have him gone, and hopes against hope that he won't ever come back.

*

Ayato puts Meika in such a foul mood that she has to step out and get some fresh air for a few hours, and ends up spending the whole day away from her apartment. She keeps finding excuses to wander around town a little longer, window shopping at the increasingly decrepit-looking strip mall and poking her head into the pachinko parlor that is gradually becoming less and less crowded by the day. She starts on her way home just after sunset, and hour before the curfew being enforced by the CCG, but her pace slows at the sound of animalistic growling somewhere up ahead.

The train station, lights flickering like a strobe onto the street, looms into view. Meika sees the silhouete of someone hunched over on the ground and almost goes closer to check, but the smell hits her first, sharp and rusty. In the brief flashes of light, she sees blood splashed on the walls, pieces of someone strewn around the street, too much to be a single person. There are half a dozen ghouls all crouched around eating, another dragging his meal back into the station.

 _The nest_ , she remembers Tanaka telling her. A horrible realization hits her.

The ghoul closest to her shifts, moving down the body after getting its fill of the corpse's throat. Meika's next inhale catches in her throat at the sight of Tanaka's face, eyes sunken, mouth hanging open, so much blood. She wonders if it hurt, if he suffered, if the ghoul had the decency to kill him before tearing him limb from limb. She doesn't think about it too long, because the ghoul suddenly freezes, and slowly begins to turn around.

She runs for her life.

In the end, she thinks, the ghoul must have decided she wasn't worth the trouble with a sizable feast all around it, because she makes it home alive. The rest of her night is spent curled up at the table with a cup of coffee in her trembling hands, blankets wrapped around her shoulders. She was lucky, again, and that terrifies her, because she knows it's only a matter of time before her luck runs out.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am supposed to be writing an essay right now oops

Meika's calls to the landlady about her broken lock all go to voicemail. She wonders if she's dead.

It wouldn't surprise her, considering the grim turn the news has taken lately. The 11th ward has transformed into a slum in the weeks since the arrival of the outsiders, violent ghouls who have no qualms about killing their own kind if they happen to be standing in the way. She hasn't heard from Kazuichi in a while, and she's already resigning herself to the idea that he must have died, too.

Investigators have become overeager in response to the growing threat, venting their frustration on petty human criminals and drunks who don't stumble home quickly enough. She's seen the way they handle people, handing out citations like candy and glaring down anyone who crosses their path as they try to regain any semblance of control.

She's jarred out of her thoughts by a sharp knock at the door and scrambles to her feet, half-expecting an impatient customer, Ayato fresh in her mind.

"Meika Kuno?" comes an unfamiliar voice from the other side, "We're from the CCG's south office. We'd like to talk to you about last night.

She groans, leaning against the counter, far too drained physically and emotionally to deal with them. She'd like to ask them to come back in an hour, or five, or never, but she wouldn't put it past them to break down her door and arrest her for "failure to cooperate," or some such bullshit. She unlocks and opens the door, peering out at the Investigators. They're both taller than her and dressed in black, but only one is carrying a briefcase. The one without, wearing a long brown duster over his suit, cracks a smile.

"Would you mind coming with us?"

She stares unblinkingly for a minute, then gives up and nods. "Let me put on some shoes," she mutters.

 _"Would you mind?"_ she repeats to herself,  _What bullshit. Like I have a choice._

The walk is completely, unnervingly silent. The Investigator with the briefcase walks behind her as though preparing for her to try to run, and the other walks beside her, setting a brisk pace. They pass by the station, cordoned off by bright yellow police tape. Several men in hazmat suits are hosing down the street with chemicals, another rolling up Tanaka's cot into a garbage bag. Tomorrow, the area will be spotless, and it will be as though he never lived, and never died. Like he was never there at all.

Meika pretends to cough and rubs at her face.

The CCG's southern 11th ward office occupies a four-story building in the heart of downtown that blends in with the rest of the ward, walls at ground-level covered in graffiti, encouraging messages such as "DEAD DOVES" and "GET OUT OF THE 11th WARD." Meika imagines being an Investigator isn't quite as much of a thankless job in other wards; after all, other wards are safer and happier, the ghouls are fewer or at least better hidden, and the Investigators don't have to be on guard the way they do in the 11th ward.

They take her to a small room on the first floor with painfully bright fluorescent lighting, no window and no furniture but a single desk and chair, and Meika very reluctantly takes it when she's told to sit down. She doesn't know what she's done to warrant an interrogation.

"You passed by the train station on your way home last night," the Investigator without the briefcase says nonchalantly as he leans against the desk across from her.

She glances between him and the silent one standing in the back corner. She didn't realize anybody was even participating in the neighborhood watch anymore, but obviously they were if someone had bothered to report seeing her. She'd love to know who; they'd be going elsewhere for their haircuts from now on. "Yes. That's the quickest way home."

"And you saw something."

There are plenty of smartass things she'd like to say, but she doubts they'd appreciate her sense of humor, so she nods instead. "Yes, I did."

"Why don't you tell us about that?"

His hedging language—why don't yous and wouldn't you minds—tells her she's talking to the good cop. "I saw a ghoul," she says quietly, "Eating someone I knew."

"But you didn't call to report it."

"No."

"Why not?"

She shifts uncomfortably in her seat.  _Because I was afraid something like this might happen?_ "I don't really trust the CCG," she says slowly, and the man looks taken aback by her answer. "Not many of us do around here," she clarifies, "Investigators have a reputation in the 11th ward for being a little…harsh. Lots of people say they don't know how to tell the difference between ghouls and humans, because of the way they treat us."

The Investigator with the briefcase is glaring at her, and she doesn't look directly at him.

"I'm sorry to hear that," the man playing the good cop says, "We really are trying to make a difference here."

"If you really want to do that, then why don't you try to do something about the poverty, or the rates of homelessness and unemployment?" Meika asks, "Those have been problems for a while."

"That's not our job."

"You're civil servants, aren't you?"

The man takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and rubs his forehead, giving a long exhale.

"Just ask what you really want to ask," Meika says.

"And what exactly would that be?"

Meika thinks she's just about exhausted his patience, which is dangerous. She'd rather not have to deal with the bad cop, who's still silently stewing in the corner of the room, but she'd like to get out as soon as possible. "You know my name. You've probably heard rumors about me."

There's a brief pause, and Meika can see him debating how to phrase his next words. "I've heard a few things, yes. But that's not really why I had you come in."

Meika frowns.  _Fine,_  she thinks,  _I'll bite._ "Then why am I here?"

"You're well-known in your community," he says, "Most people around here know you, and they come to you to get their hair done—at least they did, before it was dangerous to go outside. I'm sure you know most of the ward. Some would say you even know a fair amount of its ghoul population."

Meika doesn't give him the satisfaction of flinching or looking surprised; she knew this was coming. "I've heard people say that kind of thing about me."

"And is there any truth to it?"

"Of course not," she says without missing a beat, though she can't imagine he expects any other answer, regardless of truthfulness. "I cut hair in my apartment; I'd be dead if I let a ghoul in."  _Or if one just, you know, let itself in, as they are wont to do._

He doesn't reply, and she can't tell from his expression if he believes her or not. "Our biggest concern right now," he says, "Is the unprecedentedly large migration of ghouls from outside the ward. This isn't random; it's a planned take-over orchestrated by a fairly large and organized group. I'm sure you've heard that on the news. We believe their leader may be in the 11th ward."

Meika doesn't say a word. She isn't sure she can speak without her voice wavering, betraying her fear, because she's suddenly pretty sure she knows something about that. She doesn't know anything for certain, of course, but Ayato and Tatara are both outsiders and they're both involved in  _something_  big.

"Apprehending suspects has proven difficult," he continues, "But we've received numerous reports of ghouls spotted in the vicinity of your apartment complex."

 _Definitely a neighbor,_  Meika thinks, and easily narrows it down to one or two who are still bothering to call the CCG for help. "I'm not sure what this has to do with me."

He leans over the desk in a somewhat threatening manner, and Meika wonders if she's just been left with two bad cops. "Miss Kuno," he says, "Are you sure you've never had a ghoul come into your apartment? Perhaps even without realizing it at the time?" She stares up at him, frozen in place. "It can be more difficult than you might think to distinguish between a human and a ghoul. Perhaps they've come on multiple occasions since you've failed to notice and haven't reported them yet."

"Why wouldn't they have eaten me by now?" she asks.

He smiles and backs off a bit. "Why, indeed," he mutters, "Maybe even ghouls like seeing a hairstylist once in a while."

She's not sure how to respond to that.

"Miss Kuno, I know you don't think highly of the CCG," he says, and she senses from the way the mood has lightened that it's almost over, "But we really are just trying to help. We'd like it if you could help  _us_ help you."

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"Next time you see a ghoul," he says, gaze burning into hers with what she thinks must be an unspoken threat until she hears something sliding across the table and looks down to find a business card, "Call me."

She takes it wordlessly, squinting at the small print.  _Itsuki Marude. Commission of Counter Ghoul Special Investigator, Division 2,_  with what she can only assume to be a personal phone number printed beneath.

"I know I just look like another suit to you," he says, resting a hand on her shoulder, "But I really do care about what happens in this ward, and the people in it."

She looks into his eyes, searching for lies, an ulterior motive, any insincerity, and finds none. Nonetheless, she shrugs and his hand off of her shoulder. "Thank you, Mr. Marude," she says when she's excused, bowing in the doorway.

He means well, and she knows that. But she won't be calling him.

_"Investigators," her mother told her once, "Will take everything from you in the name of "peacekeeping" and "justice." Don't let them fool you into thinking they won't. They say ghouls are monsters, but are we really any better, continuing to ignore the most important Precept?"_

_It was the first of many talks they had about the CCG, the last of which they had when Meika was sixteen, because her mother disappeared that year, vanishing in the night while Meika was away at her then-boyfriend's home. She came back and found it eerily silent and empty, furniture overturned and plates broken, evidence of a struggle._

_She pieced the incident together bit by bit with hearsay from her neighbors who glanced at her with pity and fell silent when she walked by, but she heard them whisper about it when they thought she wasn't listening._

_"It was Investigators. They just broke in without even knocking, and dragged that poor woman out kicking and screaming."_

_"Are they allowed to do that?"_

_"If she was harboring a ghoul…."_

Meika rips the business card into tiny pieces and tosses it into the trash.

 _Sorry, Mr. Marude,_  she thinks,  _But I'd rather die than call you for help._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for your reviews! I haven't been able to reply due to classwork, but I appreciate all of them!

Shikao Kurita, head of the 11th ward, is famous for not really giving a shit about what happens in his own backyard.

He's also famous for having other backyards in far safer wards where he spends most of his time. People elsewhere in Tokyo think of him as some kind of courageous madman who didn't shy away from the dangerous mission of leading a wayward band of homeless drug addicts and impoverished families crammed in apartment complexes with their five children. People have terribly short memories, considering the popular image of the 11th ward wasn't synonymous with a slum only a month ago. To those within the ward, however, he is simply a politician seeking to improve his reputation, which continues to worsen with every CCG office and civilian life lost.

Meika meets him for the first time on a weekend, opening her door to find him and another man dressed in designer suits too expensive to look right in the 11th ward, and doesn't let them in right away, mistaking them for Investigators initially. "Can I help you?" she prompts when they continue to stare.

"My name is Shikao Kurita. The ward head," he adds, just in case she, for some reason, hasn't seen his name all over the papers whenever he makes a public announcement. "Ward head Kurita adopts new crime prevention policy for the 11th ward!" or "Ward head Kurita calls upon CCG to take responsibility for uncontrolled violence by ghouls!" Things that generally don't amount to anything more than trying to pretend he's doing something.

The 11th ward is beyond saving. Meika knows it's his job to act like that isn't the case, but she thinks he'd be a lot less hated if he could at least stop pretending he cares so much about a ward he lives in a few days out of the month, even before things went to hell.

"What do you want?" she asks. Surely, he didn't come for a haircut. His hair is fine, neatly gelled back in place. He'd probably call the police if she touched it.

"I'd like to come in," he says patiently.

Meika glances back at the bowl of half-eaten soybeans on the counter and the hair clippings still around the table from a client just five minutes ago—another strange ghoul only slightly more polite than Ayato, but at least he paid her. She turns back to him with a smile. "Sure," she says, wondering how he'd react if he knew he'd be walking on ghoul hair, "Come on in, Mr. Kurita."

The ward head and his tag-along, she's assumes a bodyguard of some sort, are visibly distressed by the state of her apartment and take off their shoes at the door with extreme reluctance. She doesn't bother getting offended, pulling a spare crate from the corner so the three of them can sit down at the table. "To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from the ward head?" she asks eagerly, hoping she doesn't sound too sarcastic. She really would love to hear what this is about.

Kurita settles onto a crate directly across from her with a grimace, glancing briefly at the floor like he'd rather sit there, then thinks better of it. "You're Miss Kuno, correct?" he asks, "You have quite the reputation around here. People trust you."

She thinks of a very similarly-phrased comment she'd heard from an Investigator a week earlier. "I suppose that's true."

"I think people tend to be less hesitant to approach you as opposed to the residents of the ward." He reaches into his jacket pocket. "They listen to you," he says, taking out his wallet. Meika watches silently as he takes out a 10,000 yen bill and sets it down on the table, sliding it across to her.

"Sir," she says, "Are you bribing me?" If he is, he knows the ward better than she gives him credit for; 10,000 yen can hardly be considered a bribe from a politician in an office like head of the ward, but it's more money than Meika usually sees at a time.

He holds her gaze. "Miss Kuno, it's possible that major media outlets from throughout Tokyo will be sending people here in the coming weeks," he says, "The state of the 11th ward is a cause for concern for many, and people want reassurance that things are going to improve, and that I'm doing the best I can for the ward." He glances down at the table. "Of course, I don't want to put you in a position you're not comfortable being in."

She hurriedly takes the money. "No, I'm comfortable," she insists, "Really, I am."

He smiles, practiced and plastic-looking. "Excellent. So if you're stopped by a camera crew in the near future…."

"I'll tell them that you're doing a great job."

Kurita and the other man are on their feet then, unwilling to spend a moment longer in her apartment than they have to, and Meika locks the door behind them, staring down at the money in her hands. She doesn't like Kurita any more than anybody else does, and she really doubts anyone will like him better just because she shows up on TV saying how great he is; not that any of that really matters when she has the money in her hands.

The 10,000 yen doesn't go towards groceries or rent, though. Meika tucks it away into the bottom drawer of a dresser along with some spare change, counts up the total, and shuts it again.

One step closer.

*

Days later, Meika frowns at her face on the screen when she watches her interview late at night. The reporter is a woman with cherry-colored lip gloss and a flawless complexion, and Meika stands out next to her with tired, bloodshot eyes, pasty skin and her hair messily pulled back in a lopsided ponytail.

_Way to represent the ward,_  she thinks.

"What's your opinion on Mr. Kurita's public announcement yesterday?" the reporter asks.

Meika watches herself from a few days earlier with a smile stretched thinly across her face. "I feel pretty good about it. I think Mr. Kurita really cares about us, and even though things are getting tough here, he isn't going to give up." She doesn't sound too forced; she laughs, shaking her head. That isn't something to be proud of.

"What's so funny?" Tatara asks.

He was there when she came home, having let himself in again. She didn't ask how or why, just settled in at the table and watched him take a seat, apparently planning to stay a while. "The ward head visited me not long ago," she says, "He paid me to talk him up if I got the chance."

"And you agreed?"

"10,000 yen," she says defensively.

"I'm surprised," Tatara says, watching the screen, "I would've thought you'd be above that sort of thing."

She studies his expression but still finds it unreadable. "What, you thought I was some paragon of virtue with unshakable moral convictions?"

She hears him chuckle. "No."

"Desperate times," she says with a shrug, "If he'd asked a month ago, I would've said no. But things have changed, and I don't know how much longer I'll be around. Guess it depends on when you get hungry."

Tatara's attention shifts from the TV to her face. "I'm not going to eat you," he says.

"It'd be a waste if you killed me without eating me." He continues to stare wordlessly, and she raises a brow. "One of your little friends came by last week and said you were telling people I couldn't be killed  _yet_."

"One of my friends?"

"Ayato."

There's a long pause. "He said that, did he?" His tone is as unreadable as his face; Meika can't tell if she's gotten the brat in trouble or netted him a promotion.

"Yeah, shortly before he nearly kicked down the door and left without paying me." She puts her hands up in a placating gesture. "I know you guys are in charge now, but just so you know, I'm not going to taste very good if I'm nothing but skin and bone."

"Meika," he says, his suddenly stern tone surprising her, "I am  _not_  going to eat you."

She hesitates. "You're serious," she says slowly, "You're not just saying that." She still can't quite read his expressions, but he looks like he's trying very hard not to roll his eyes. "Why?"

"I've decided not to." She would like to say that he hasn't really given her an answer, but she doesn't want to push her luck. "Please excuse Ayato," he says rather suddenly, reaching into his coat pocket and setting a wad of bills on the table, "But his behavior is not my responsibility."

She frowns, eyes moving from the money and back to his face. "Alright," she says slowly, "What're you trying to do here?"

"Pardon?"

"What's this about?" she asks, gesturing down at the money, "This, and how nice you're being, and how you're saying you're not going to eat me after all. What are you trying to pull?"

"You think I have some ulterior motive?"

"Am I wrong?"

Tatara pauses, gaze wandering away from her face and becoming distant and thoughtful. "No," he says, "You're not wrong. I may be trying to make up for something."

The comment throws Meika off. "What?"

"I might be trying to clear my karma," he elaborates, "And pay back a debt that my predecessors couldn't."

"So are you," Meika hesitates to say the word, somewhat in disbelief, "Are you Buddhist or something?"

Tatara is silent for a long time, eyes downcast and scrutinizing the table before he shuts them as though deep in thought. His shoulders start to shake, and Meika squints at him, confused, until she hears it. He's laughing. Not a small chuckle or or an upturn at the corners of his eyes, but full-blown laughter. Unsure of how to respond, she just stares and waits for it to be over. "No," Tatara finally says, sounding a bit out of breath. Even with his mouth covered, she can see the smile lighting up his visible face. "No, I'm not. But I grew up with other ghouls who were. Some things just rubbed off on me." His expression has softened completely from its usual hard stoicism, and if Meika didn't know better, she'd mistake the calm air around them for the sort of casual setting she might have been in when Hagi was still around. "Buddhism is difficult for ghouls."

"I imagine it would be," she scoffs, relaxing against her better judgment and leaning over the table, "'As all Buddhas refrain from killing within their lives, so, too, shall I.' Just living for ghouls runs contrary to the first Precept."

"Ah, but don't they say that life itself is suffering?" Tatara asks, sounding amused. "That's why one converts in the first place; to purge themselves of their earthly attachments and build up good karma so they'll be reborn on a lotus in their next life."

Meika raises a brow. "You sure know a lot about it for someone who doesn't practice."

"Do you?"

She shakes her head. "My mother observed Buddhism lite," she says with a laugh, "Religion was not going to keep her from drinking when she wanted." Tatara chuckles a bit, and it suddenly strikes Meika that they're both leaning over the table, Tatara hunched to converse with her better, and they're awfully close together. "This is weird, isn't it?" she asks.

"What?"

"This is weird," she repeats, and leans back, returning safely to her own side of the table. "We're talking like we're really close."

"Aren't we?" Tatara asks, "You've yet to kick me out."

"You'd just come in without being invited again anyway."

She can tell he's smiling again. "Does it bother you?" he asks in a more subdued tone that she's used to, "Being close to a ghoul?"

"When we were talking like that just now," she says, "I actually forgot you were one."

Neither of them speak for a few moments. Tatara holds her gaze until she decides to be the first to look away, suddenly self-conscious. The relaxed atmosphere dissolves, replaced by the suffocating tension that usually accompanies his visits. As though sensing it, Tatara stands to leave. "Take the money and have your lock fixed," he says quietly.

Meika nods wordlessly, experiencing a couple dozen feelings at the same time and unsure of how to express any of them.

He slips silently out the door. Meika remains seated a while longer, trying to collect herself as it begins to sink in. She wants to say that Tatara's supposed benign intentions, repaying or perhaps paying forward some sort of favor, is what's throwing her off, but that's just an excuse. She knows that the way she feels about him has changed; no longer is he the frightening, silent ghoul that first appeared in her apartment not so long ago, threatening to bite her hand off. He's the sort of ghoul she talks to and loses track of time, the kind that she sometimes forgets isn't really a human when they sit down with her.

She's reminded instantly of Hagi and the slow progression of their relationship. Back then, she'd told herself she knew better than to get involved with him; the next thing she knew, she'd gone from his hairstylist to his bedmate, with a few feelings attached that were not all reciprocated. Her feelings now are different, of course. She doesn't know Tatara the way she knew Hagi, hasn't even seen half of his face, but she admits that there is something there, something small but growing.

Something that, if she's anything like her mother, will eventually ruin her life.


	9. Chapter 9

After nearly a month of silence, Kazuichi Banjou reappears, and Meika has never opened her door so quickly. He's followed inside by three other ghouls in hoodies and gas masks, longtime companions whom she recognizes and doesn't mind making a scene in front of when she wraps her arms around Kazuichi.

"Call next time," she snaps, "I thought you died."

He laughs weakly hugging her back. "I thought I was going to, a few times." When she lets go, he looks down at her and frowns. "You look like hell."

"You should talk," she says, "Have a seat, your hair's a mess."

"Ah. I'm not here for hair," he admits, "Just wanted to talk."

Meika blinks, surprised, but nods. Kauzichi goes to sit down reflexively in his usual spot on the crate across from her, and Meika moves to get more crates for his friends, but they politely take the floor. "So where've you been?" she asks, "Out uniting the ward?"

Kazuichi smiles, and it's the saddest thing she's ever seen. "I tried," he says softly, "Gave it my all. Turns out I'm just not cut out to be a leader."

Whatever happened was bad; Meika is used to seeing Kazuichi looking like he could use a little reassurance, not completely crushed.

"Things were rough," he continues, "Fights over feeding grounds were happening all over the place, doves were cracking down, everyone was panicking. Then  _they_  showed up."

"They?"

Kazuichi meets her eyes, uncharacteristically solemn. "Aogiri Tree."

"Hold on," Meika says, standing, "This is some heavy talk, and I don't have nearly enough caffeine in my system for that yet."

"One for me, too," Kazuichi says weakly, followed by his friends requesting some as well. When Meika comes back with drinks, Kazuichi tells her everything; the steady trickle of outsiders, so slow at first that he didn't even notice anything strange, until they were too numerous to fight. These ghouls were the outsiders who had no respect for Kazuichi's—or anyone's—authority but their own, carving a trail of viscera through the 11th ward on eating binges, engaging the CCG in violent skirmishes and slaughtering civilians caught in the crossfire.

Aogiri Tree—no doubt the organization that Mr. Marude had mentioned—was a fearsome juggernaut of ghouls united under a single banner, consuming everything it came across, and the 11th ward was just another of its casualties.

"We fought at first," Kazuichi says, "Tried, at least. But they killed everyone who stood up to them. We had no chance. Everyone that's left, we will work for Aogiri Tree now. We don't have a choice." He downs the rest of the coffee in a few gulps—and Meika knows it's garbage, because it was instant crap on clearance, the only kind that wasn't completely sold out at the convenience store. He lowers his voice suddenly, as though afraid someone's listening. "Have you thought about leaving?"

"Not really," Meika shrugs, "I mean, where would I go? I don't have the money to move, and I don't have any family to take me in. Not sure I could leave now if I wanted to, anyway. People are talking about complete lockdown; Kurita doesn't need much of a push." Meika takes a few sips of her coffee and scrunches up her face at the bitterness. "For now," she says, "I'm just gonna try and survive. I think I'm good with our new overlords; I've had plenty of business, and most of them pay me. As long as I obey curfew and food shipments don't stop, I think I'll be okay for now."

"I'm sorry," Kazuichi says quietly, hands clenched into fists, "I wish…I wish I were stronger. I wish I could've taken care of the ward."

Meika shakes her head. "Banjou, the local CCG branch has called for reinforcements three times in the last couple weeks. Nobody could have predicted, or handled, all of this alone. Don't beat yourself up over it."

"I know, it's just…." He sighs. "I should go. We're not supposed to be out for too long. Here." He leaves some spare change. "It's not much, but it's all I got right now. Take care of yourself."

"You, too," Meika says weakly, watching him leave trailed by his three shadows who thank her for the coffee. She's seen the way Aogiri Tree has changed the ward; the chaos, the violence, the constant fear. But to see the way it's affected someone she knows—taken him, drained the life from his eyes and left him with empty and hopeless—makes it even worse somehow.

*

_Meika's father had long been out of the picture by the time she could form memories. She doesn't know if he died, if he left after she was born, or if he'd just never been around. Her mother never mentioned him, so she assumed he wasn't important._

_But her mother would talk about Home with a capital H, which was different from the home Meika grew up in, a small house in what was supposedly the bad part of town—a phrase that seems especially laughable now that the entire 13_ _th_ _and 11_ _th_ _wards can be considered "the bad part of town." Home, their real Home, according to her mother, was across the sea on the Asian continent. It was big, it was beautiful, and all Meika's mother wanted was to go back someday._

_"Well, why don't we?" Meika asked once._

_Her mother had smiled and shook her head. "We can't," she said. But whenever Meika asked for a reason, she would never get one. She thought, as a child, that it must be the money. That was the reason for everything else; that was why she couldn't be a part of any clubs in school, why they ate the same food every night or didn't eat at all. It was always the money._

_But as she grew up, she caught things that her mother would say—to neighbors, to friends, to Mr. Tanaka, whom wasn't homeless yet in those days but lived in an apartment complex not far from there—and she began to wonder if it was something else. When Meika would check the mail, her mother would become upset and demand to see it, and she would read most of it, but sometimes these special letters would come and she'd just hide them. Meika thinks her mother didn't even read them, just locked them up in a box and let them gather dust. So she began to think that it was something other than money._

_Something much more complicated and dangerous._

*

Meika lays out the money she's gotten lately—lots of change from work, large bills from Tatara and Mr. Kurita—counts it all up, and her pulse quickens in excitement. She thinks, if she skips on groceries this week, she might have enough.

She has to catch a bus to get to a station that's still running at the edge of the ward, where the CCG have set up a checkpoint to make sure only humans are leaving. As the train approaches the 13th ward, announcements play at every stop, warning,  _"We will make a brief stop at Shibuya Station. For your safety, it is encouraged that you do not get off."_  When the doors open and the train slides to a stop, Meika is the only one in her car who leaves.

The storage facility is next door to the station, and a tired-looking man is sitting at the desk reading a magazine when Meika walks in. He doesn't look up until she clears her throat, and he only glances up at her, looking annoyed. "I talked to you on the phone a few weeks back," she says, "About buying a locker."

He hesitates to stand up, glancing behind her as though looking for a trap of some sort, and then nods, setting the magazine down and coming around the desk. He motions for her to follow him down the hall, walls lined with storage lockers, until he stops towards the back, where a locker with a strip of tape labeled "Zhou, Lin" is waiting. He fishes a key from his pocket and holds it out to her, but when she lifts a hand, he suddenly retracts it out of reach. "You have the money?" he asks.

Meika huffs but opens her purse and takes out a wad of bills paperclipped together. He stuffs it into his pocket and gives her the key.

"Just so we're clear," he says as she goes to unlock the unit, "You were never here, and this transaction never happened."

Meika nods. She turns the key in the lock and the door swings open, stale musty air several years old floating out. The only thing in the locker is a yellowed storage bin, and Meika sees papers—envelopes—through the hole in the side. She takes it out, holding it with both arms, and notices the man watching her carefully, as though expecting a negative reaction when she realizes she paid 80,000 yen for a box of paper.

She smiles; he doesn't realize how much this is worth to her.

*

She comes back home, and of course— _of fucking course_ —Tatara is sitting at the table patiently, like he's been there a while. Meika walks around him and puts the box in her closet, ignoring his questioning gaze as she sits across from him. "I wasn't going to say anything," she tells him, "But this is the third time, so I can't help myself. What are you doing here, and how do you keep getting in?"

She thinks she sees something like amusement in his eyes. "I came to check on you," he says. She notices that he carefully avoids answering how exactly he got in, but she's content to let it remain a mystery.

"Check on me?" she repeats, "Why? Do you have reason to believe something bad's going to happen to me?"

"No, nothing like that."

Meika waits for him to elaborate. Predictably, he doesn't. "There's something else, isn't there?" she asks carefully, "Some other reason you keep coming, besides whatever 'debt' you're trying to pay back."

"That's a distinct possibility."

She's taken aback by the easy admission. "So what is it?"

Tatara pauses, closes his eyes as though deep in thought, and then opens them again. "Why do you think, Meika?" he asks, "Why don't you tell me what you think I want?"

She breaks eye contact, looking away uncomfortably. "I don't know, that's why I asked."

"You really have no idea? You don't even want to hazard a guess?" He comes around the table, kneeling at her side, and Meika is frozen to the spot when he reaches up and puts a hand on her face, turning her head to examine her cheek, her chin, the nape of her neck, all the while breathing deeply.  _Smelling her._

"I mean," she stammers, "You said you aren't going to eat me, and that was the only idea I had, so I don't know."

"So you do listen," he says, the hint of a smile evident in his voice, but it's gone as soon as she thinks she hears it. "Truthfully, I haven't decided what I want yet." He places a thumb on her lip and Meika shudders involuntarily, eyes flying open in embarrassment when she sees the look he's giving her.

"Sorry, I just," she moves out of his reach, "I'm kind of…uh…nobody's touched me in a long time." She expects an awkward silence, or maybe for him to excuse himself and leave. She doesn't expect a look of understanding to cross his face before that. Meika feels like she shouldn't have said anything and is eager for him to leave, but still catches herself calling as he's halfway out the door, "Are you coming back?"

Tatara turns to look at her over his shoulder. "Of course," he says.

Long after he's gone, Meika still remembers his eyes, and his hand on her face, and his soothing voice, and she quickly gets up and busies herself with coffee, because the last thing she needs is to fall in lust—or anything more serious—with a ghoul.

_Again_.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been having internet problems again, so I'm posting this early while I still have connection. I'm not sure if the next update will be on time. Sorry in advance!

Nobody lives in the 11th ward anymore.

Not in any meaningful way.

It had been built on the remains of a district swallowed whole by the financial crisis of the nineties and spat back up in skeletal fragments, always lagging behind the rest of Tokyo. It was an ugly skyline weaved by unfinished skyscrapers and power lines looming over dying department stores and empty bars with blinking neon signs. Now, it's largely the same, but blood-spattered. The Commission of Counter Ghoul's Bureau Director made headlines when he said that the 11th ward "has become a stain upon the rest of Tokyo," before introducing a number of proposals to address the rampant violence that had turned the ward from a lower-income district to a slum to a warzone.

And so the people of the 11th ward do not  _live_  there, if living refers to any meaningful existence. They're just packed tightly together, prey beside predator, scuttling over each other like cockroaches in their land left behind by civilization. It makes little difference to the ward if one is human or ghoul. Everyone ends up eaten; by monsters, by addiction, by the unforgiving streets of the district.

Things have changed, and in little more than the blink of an eye. Meika's neighbors in the unit to her left have been quiet lately, and there's a strange odor coming from their apartment. Nobody has called about it—though more likely, nobody has been able to reach the landlady. Every day, she feels more and more like the last human on earth, even though she knows it's a wild exaggeration, because the isolation is closing in on her, and each customer with red and black eyes and corpses on their breath reminds her that she's outnumbered in the world the 11th ward has become. Normally, those worries by themselves are enough to keep her busy, anxiously sipping coffee with the TV on for background noise, the same fucking news on loop for hours; they can change the words all they want, it's still the same sob story about the ward dying all around her.

But Meika has bigger problems and other things to be worried about, and the ward is the last thing on her mind for once.

The letters, the ones she remembers her mother hurriedly hiding away, are impossible to read. Rather, they're impossible for  _Meika_ to read, because she can' read Chinese. She's torn open all of the envelopes and all she can make out are dates written in the top corners, spanning years of her early life in the 11th ward. She can make out her mother's name sometimes, and her own name, too, but beyond that, she's illiterate.

She wishes her mother had taught her how to read as much as she'd taught her to speak their mother tongue; not that it would have done her any good, since she never knew she had anyone to write to until now. She doesn't want to go around asking if anyone can read it because she doesn't know what it says yet, so for now, the whole box is taking up space in a closet, gathering even more dust and taunting her with its secrets about Home and her mother.

It's probably not going to turn out to be anything important. Meika thinks it's probably just notes from extended family, from aunts and uncles she's never met. But on the off-chance that they're something more, something to tell her about the past and explain what happened, she needs to know what they say.

She doesn't have the money for an electronic dictionary, but she begins thinking of saving up, if only to translate the letters one agonizing word at a time. As if on cue, a knock at the door makes her shove the box back in the closet and cover it with a blanket before going to answer, and for once, she's overjoyed to see Shikao Kurita on her doorstep.

"Hello, Mr. Kurita," she says brightly, opening the door wide to let him and his companion into the apartment. He's wearing his usual crisp suit and disgusted scowl.

"Hello, Miss Kuno," he says.

"Can I help you with something?" she asks as they sit at the table like before. Kurita has been called upon to resign from his position as ward head on numerous occasions in the past few weeks alone, but he's remained resolute, insisting that "change is around the corner" and using every political buzzword he can possibly think of in an attempt to obscure the fact that he's completely lost control. She could probably ask for a bigger bribe and get away with it.

"Maybe," he allows, "You've seen the news lately, haven't you?"

 _Have you seen my reputation sinking like a corpse with a brick tied to its ankle?_  he means. Meika smiles politely. "I have."

"There's widespread panic in the ward. It's caused some interesting rumors to crop up; about the CCG, about me, even about  _you_ , Miss Kuno."

The conversation suddenly adopts a different tone; he doesn't sound nervous like he did last time he came and asked for a bribe, but confident, smug, even. He drags her name out when he says, sounding suspicious. She tries not to let the anxiety show on her face. "Rumors about me? That's nothing new," she laughs.

"I suppose it isn't," he says nonchalantly, but she hears the prologue to a threat there all the same, "And I'm not one to buy into mere rumor. But there's something to be said when rumors as persistent as these continues to circulate, especially when they're so severe."

"What do people say?" Meika asks carefully.

The ward head doesn't answer right away, studying her expression, searching for fear. "They say they've seen ghouls hanging around here lately. Some people even think you might be harboring fugitives."

This rumor isn't news to her, and she doesn't miss a beat. "Harboring fugitives?" she repeats, "That doesn't really make sense, does it? I mean, just look at this place." She laughs as she gestures around the apartment; Mr. Kurita just wrinkles his nose. "I hardly have enough space for myself. Where would I keep a fugitive?"

"It's just a rumor," he says, sounding unconvinced, "Although, seasoned criminals tend to get away with whatever they put their minds to."

"Oh, yes," Meika says dramatically, "As a high school dropout, I'm sure I fit your criteria for a criminal mastermind."

"I don't appreciate the attitude, Miss Kuno."

"Then why don't you just come out and say whatever you came here to say, instead of beating around the bush like this?"

"Very well," he says with a sigh, "Miss Kuno, since our last encounter, I've been investigating you, and I found something very interesting. Do you know what that is?" Meika waits. "Nothing. I didn't find anything." He holds up a paper and Meika squints across the table, trying to read the small print. There are marks all over the paper, things circled in red pen and notes in the margins. "This is a copy of your family registry," he says, "Which is entirely fabricated. I didn't find anything, because 'Meika Kuno' doesn't exist."

Meika feels her heart sink.

"I wondered how exactly someone who isn't even a legal resident of the ward could have become a respected member of the community," he says, setting the paper down on the table and sliding it across to her, rubbing it in her face, "Of course, that hardly matters now, since any respect you once had is long gone. Your clients are too afraid to see you anymore since you seem to be very familiar with ghouls."

"What's your point?" she snaps, though it hits her the moment the words leave her. She sees it in Mr. Kurita's eyes, in the confidence he's suddenly regained despite his poor reputation.

"I did this investigation privately, with my own money," he says, "And I did it for the good of the ward. Some might be shocked that there was an illegal alien making deals with ghouls right under their noses; the rest will be grateful that I caught her."

"You're using me," Meika says slowly, "As a scapegoat. To improve your reputation and distract the ward."

Mr. Kurita says nothing, but he does smile just a bit.

"You don't have any proof," she stammers.

"Your family registry is forged," he tells her, "Which is really grounds for arrest on its own. But if that isn't enough, I also found a connection between you and a fugitive wanted by the Chinese government, Lin Zhou." Meika tries to brace herself, but still flinches when she hears her mother's name. "You lived with her in the 13th ward for several years before moving to the 11th, where she was apprehended before being deported." He pauses. "However, she's still listed as a wanted fugitive."

Meika is speechless at the new information, trying to understand the implications of what she's been told. Her mother was deported, but is still wanted by the Chinese government, which means they don't know where she is either.

_She could still be alive._

"I'd rather not do this to you," Mr. Kurita says, "Considering you've helped me in the past. So let me help you now."

"Let you help me?" Meika spits, "After all that, you think I  _want_  your help?"

"Your mother has been on the run for twenty years. If you tell me where she is, you can walk free."

"You want me to…." Meika laughs, unbelieving. "Get out."

"Miss Kuno—!"

"I said get out!" she screams, glaring at Mr. Kurita and his bodyguard until they've let the door shut shut behind them. Meika looks down at the fake family registry, mind reeling, wondering how much time she has left before the police, or even the CCG, are notified. She groans when the door creaks open a bit, the broken lock and bent frame preventing it from settling, and stomps over to it, opening it wide before trying to slam it shut.

A pale hand catches the door and Meika stumbles back as Tatara slips into the apartment. "You have the best timing," she mutters as he sits down without waiting for an invitation, "The ward head was just here, threatening to send the CCG to my doorstep."

"Why?"

"Lots of reasons," she mutters, leaning against the counter with a hand massaging her temple.

Tatara is silent for a moment. "My visits have been too frequent." His voice is quiet, and she thinks he almost sounds guilty.

"What?" Meika laughs bitterly. "No, that's not…I mean, probably, but there's more to it than that." He glances up at her curiously. "I'm…I wasn't born in Japan," Meika admits softly, "My mother fled here with me, apparently because she's a wanted criminal in China. We lived in the 13th ward when I was a kid because people don't ask too many questions there, you know?" She shakes her head. "But it's not really the kind of place to raise a family, so when she had enough money, she moved us here instead. We couldn't become legal citizens, so she had to have a fake registry made."

"Someone found out about the registry?" Tatara guesses.

Meika nods. "Shikao Kurita."

"Didn't he bribe you to say flattering things about him not long ago?"

"Yes," Meika groans, "And now he wants me to take the fall so he looks like a hero."

"But he's the only one who knows?"

Meika hesitates. "I don't know," she says uneasily, "His bodyguard knows, but I'm not sure who else outside of them. He said he had the investigation done privately, and I guess he's been keeping it quiet for now until he's ready to make an appearance. It'll probably be on the news in a few days."

Tatara's glance shifts to her door like there's someone standing there, and he goes, "Hm. I wouldn't worry about it, then."

"No, I'm pretty sure worry is an appropriate response," Meika argues, "I just figured out all of these things about my mother, and  _now_  all this is coming back to bite me. She could be alive. She could still be out there somewhere. But I'll never know if I get deported, or if the CCG gets ahold of me, or—!"

"Meika," Tatara interrupts, and she jolts when she realizes he moved from the table to come stand directly in front of her in the blink of an eye. He reaches for her and she holds her breath, expecting him to smell her or do something creepy, but instead, his hand gently wipes below her eye where a tear had gathered and began to fall. "I told you not to worry."

He's standing really close; close enough that Meika can't help but be aware of how much warmth he gives off. Just as he begins to move away, she finds herself acting without thinking, grabbing onto his sleeves with shaking hands. "Could you," she hesitates, unable to meet his eyes in embarrassment, "Could you stay, for a little while? Please?"

Tatara says nothing, and he doesn't move. The lack of reaction is almost worse than a negative one, and Meika's hands are shaking when she tugs on his sleeve, pulling him over to the table where she sits and pulls him down to her level. They're kneeling on the tatami floor, and Meika is trembling, scolding herself for saying and doing something so childish and stupid, when Tatara's arms slowly circle her body from behind, wrapping her in a reluctant embrace, and she immediately relaxes.

It's not the same as cuddling with Hagi—nothing and no one will ever be the same as Hagi—but Tatara is so much taller than her, his presence all-encompassing, and she still finds herself comforted. Without even realizing it, she slips into a brief, dreamless sleep.

*

She wakes to the soft murmur of the television and sits up abruptly, finding herself wrapped in blankets. Tatara is long gone, having left not a trace of himself, and she's almost tempted to believe she imagined the whole thing, until the news story on TV catches her attention with a single name.

"…the tragic murder of ward head Shikao Kurita and assistant Tadayuki Sakata comes at a crucial point in the 11th ward's struggle," the reporter says, various shots of a private residence surrounded by police tape flashing across the screen as she speaks, "The attack is believed to have been carried out by the same ghoul organization that has already launched multiple attacks on the ward's CCG office and is responsible for the deaths of dozens of Investigators and countless civilians. CCG officials report that they believe Kurita had been carrying out a private investigation, which could have caused…."

Meika tunes the rest out, eyes glued to the screen as she begins putting it all together. Tatara's voice echoes in her head,  _"I told you not to worry."_

She's not sure if he's just saved her life, or put her in a lot more trouble.


	11. Chapter 11

Time is running out.

Meika can feel it in the air, a palpable tension of the ward wound tight, and it could snap at any minute and all come crumbling down. There's a chill in the air, the first breaths of winter, and she knows she needs to leave.

Investigators start going door to door searching for fugitives and asking if anyone has information about the untimely demise of Shikao Kurita. Their visit to Meika's apartment is brief; she says she doesn't know anything, they walk in, and then they walk right back out, under the correct assumption that she can't really hide anyone in a one-room apartment. She hasn't heard anything new about it on the news; the CCG has pieced together that he was killed by someone from Aogiri Tree, and that is was probably because of the private investigation he was conducting, but they thankfully haven't uncovered what sort of investigation it was and have jumped to all the wrong conclusions.

Tatara hasn't been by since, and it makes her nervous. She knows it couldn't have been a coincidence that the only two people she thought knew about her forged family registry were murdered the same day she told him about the ward head threatening her, and while she can't deny she's thankful he intervened, she's also worried about what will happen if she was wrong. If someone else knew what Kurita was investigating, or if he left some notes about what he was doing, she's certain the CCG will drag her away into the night, never to be heard from again, because it's really starting to look like she's involved in Aogiri Tree's steady takeover of the 11th ward.

And yet, despite the urgency sometimes overtaking her with icy claws of panic, drawing her gaze to the door whenever someone passes by and jumping at every police siren, she can't bring herself to actually go. She hasn't fallen prey to the ward's brainwashing campaign, trying to flood the media with ads for New Year's bento and cute stationary to write to relatives, anything to keep anyone left in the 11th ward from going anywhere. A highway has been closed, another is down to one lane, train stations are equipped with Rc sensors, but it's all too late; Aogiri Tree has already settled in and made themselves at home, and all of the humans who find it harder and harder to leave are the fuel for their fire.

But Meika's problem is that she's  _afraid_. She can make excuses all she wants, wait for Kazuichi to visit because she'd like to see him one more time but never call to tell him, tell herself that the weather will be more favorable tomorrow, but it all comes down to fear. She's afraid to leave Tokyo when it's all she can remember, afraid to leave Japan altogether when she doesn't even know how she'll get into China. So she keeps putting it off, packing and unpacking, saying, "tomorrow," because Kazuichi never comes and it just gets colder, and she can tell herself that's the reason.

Then, one day, Tatara comes back.

She's sitting on the floor with a blanket draped over her shoulders against the wall in her living room, hands clutching a lukewarm cup of coffee, when she hears the click of her lock turning and looks up in time to see the door swing open and Tatara slip inside. He glances down and freezes, as though he hadn't expected her to be there.

"Hi," Meika says, giving a half-hearted wave, "Come in." He nods, but his gaze wanders the room briefly, over an open suitcase by the table filled with odds and ends, a pile of clothes on the floor.

"Going somewhere?" he asks.

Meika gets to her feet, shedding the blanket onto the carpet on her way to the kitchen. "Not at this rate. Do you want some coffee?"

Tatara follows her over, standing on the other side of the counter to give her space. "I don't want to impose."

She laughs, shaking her head. "You barge in without being invited all the time. A cup of coffee isn't much more of an imposition." She glances back over her shoulder at him. "Speaking of, you have a key, don't you?"

He chooses not to answer, staring back silently.

"You're not going to tell me how you got it, are you?"

"Do you really want to know?"

Meika frowns. "Is it really bad?"

His expression doesn't change. "What do you consider bad?"

"Never mind." She pours water and instant mix into a coffee mug and sticks in the microwave, turning to look at Tatara as it spins in a slow circle. "So. The ward head."

"Hm."

"And his assistant." She waits, but he doesn't offer anything unprompted. "You had something to do with that, right?"

Tatara is still expressionless, and she finds herself growing frustrated. Instead of an answer, he asks, "What's the suitcase for?"

"That's a stupid question," she snaps, "Answer mine, please."

"An equally stupid question," Tatara says, and he sounds like he's getting impatient, too, for once, "Yes, I killed them. You already knew that, so why are you asking?"

"I was just," she flounders for a good response. The microwave beeps loudly behind her, telling her the coffee is ready, but she ignores it. "Well, why?"

"Why?" Tatara echoes incredulously. His eyes widen a bit, and she feels a childish thrill at having gotten a reaction out of him. "Are you upset that I did? Would you have rather I left him alive so he could have you arrested and deported for the Chinese government to deal with?"

"I'm not ungrateful," Meika insists, "I was just surprised, I guess. You…really like me, don't you?"

Tatara falls silent, staring at her like he's not quite sure how to answer that.

She suddenly feels self-conscious for saying it out loud and looks away, distracting herself by going to get the coffee. She brings it over to him, staring down at the counter top between them. "You know what? Forget I said that. I'm glad you did it, though. Even if you've inadvertently put me in even more danger."

He doesn't take the coffee at first, looking down at the counter. Or maybe Meika's hands; she isn't quite sure what he's looking at. "You said you were raised by a Buddhist," he says suddenly, "So you know about the forms one would take upon rebirth."

"What? What does that have to do—?"

"Traditionally," Tatara cuts her off, "It was believed that being reborn as a human was better than other animals, but still not as good as being reborn enlightened upon a lotus. For ghouls, this is problematic; where do we come in on the hierarchy of reincarnation? Are we above or below animals? Are we above or below humans? You told me once that it's in a ghoul's nature to kill humans, and that runs contrary to Buddhism altogether."

Meika recalls that Tatara claimed he wasn't a Buddhist, but he sounds like he's thought about this a lot.

"I grew up with ghouls who practiced Buddhism," he says, one hand rising to unlatch his mask. Meika finds herself holding her breath, realizing she's seeing something very private, as he lowers it. Tatara has a gently sloping nose and an angular face, high cheekbones. He looks different somehow, and Meika is struck by just how much when she's just seeing what was hidden beneath his mask. "They reconciled their killing of humans as the fact that they were less enlightened than them. They believed that, if they sought enlightenment in this life, they would be reborn as humans in the next."

"What did you think?" Meika asks, "Did you agree with them?"

Tatara takes the mug by the handle. "Of course not. I thought they were fools then, and I still do now. Ghouls are not lower than humans." He says it firmly, like he really believes it.

Meika is overcome by an uncomfortable feeling not unlike when Ayato had come in, something like walking on eggshells or teetering at the edge of a cliff, something dangerous behind her.  _"You're a fucking human, you don't tell me what to do,"_ is what came out of his mouth, but she'd understood his philosophy before he'd ever said it by the way he'd talked down to her. "So you think humans are inferior, too."

"I didn't say that." Tatara takes a tentative sip of the coffee, but his face twists into a disgusted scowl and Meika tries not to laugh. "This coffee is terrible."

"It's the cheapest brand at the store."

"I can tell." He looks like he's seriously contemplating dumping it down the sink, but holds onto it, shoulders tense as he braces himself for another drink.

"So what do you think?" Meika presses, "If humans aren't inferior, that is."

"I think biological diversity is important. It's necessary for both humans and ghouls to exist. Whether one is superior to the other is irrelevant."

"Wow, that's," Meika pauses, "Jarring, really, after all of the esoteric stuff you just said."

"I told you I'm not Buddhist." He sets the cup down after draining about half, glancing down at it disgustedly as though unable to handle much more. "I think religion makes people do dangerous and foolish things, so I'd rather not have any part of that."

"Oh, I know," Meika says, "I do dangerous and foolish things all the time. I don't need to use religion as an excuse for that."

Tatara smiles, and Meika feels her heart beating faster. She thinks she's blushing. "We have that in common, then," he says quietly.

Meika is half-expecting a kiss, so she's a little surprised when he vaults over the counter first, making it look effortless, and practically crushes her against it when he connects his mouth with hers. Meika's hands fly to his coat, holding on tightly, while his wander down her shoulders and over her arms, smoothing down her sides and stopping at her hips. His touch is gentle and soothing, and she thinks,  _these hands have probably killed more people than I can count,_  and for some reason, that's exciting. He smells like herbs and musk, something new and unfamiliar.

For a little while, for the first time in recent memory, Meika forgets about Hagi.

*

"You know," Meika says later, wearing nothing more than a t-shirt and undergarments as she leans back into Tatara's chest, "I have this box of letters that I can't read sitting in a closet."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Mom taught me how to speak Mandarin, but I never learned to read or write it."

Tatara's heartbeat is a relaxing, soft metronome against her back, and she struggles to keep her eyes open. "So the letters are in Mandarin?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"Could I see them?"

Meika sits up enough to twist around and look at him. "You can read Mandarin?"

The corners of his lips turn up and his whole expression seems to soften. Even the slightest gesture seems so expressive that she thinks that must be why he wears the mask even when he's inside her apartment—he can't hide what he's thinking without it.

"I'll go get them," she says, scrambling to her feet. She'd been reluctant to show the letters to anyone before, but she's long past debating whether or not she trusts Tatara.

She returns with the whole box, setting it down on the table with a dull thump, and looks pointedly at Tatara. "Go ahead," she says, and he chuckles, saying, "Yes, yes," and the whole scene is so surreal and domestic that Meika feels elated and then depressed immediately after. There's no way it can possibly last, she thinks, nothing happy like this ever lasts.

Tatara dumps the contents of the box onto the table, sifting through the papers that spill out and organizing them in piles. He sets the envelopes, all torn open in Meika's initial hurry weeks ago, to the side. "These go back a ways," he comments.

"Mom got them as far back as I can remember. I always assumed they were from family."

When he stops organizing, he picks one up, eyes scanning the page silently. Meika sits in silence, waiting, and scoots a little closer when he still doesn't speak. "Well?" she prompts, but Tatara is quiet for a moment longer, deeply engrossed, before he glances at her, gaze full of emotions that aren't all immediately identifiable. Affection, she thinks, but also pity.

"You never told me what your real name was," he says gently, almost a whisper, "Mingxia." Meika is so surprised she actually flinches. Tatara looks back down at the letter. "That's very clever. You can read the same characters as different names in Japanese and Chinese. Was that your idea, or your mother's?"

"It was my mother's. She stopped calling me that when I was ten or so, because she wanted me to get used to being 'Meika.' Now, I think I'd answer to it faster than 'Mingxia.'"

"A shame," Tatara says, and he sounds sincerely disappointed, "I think your real name is prettier. But maybe I'm biased."

"Are you from China, too?"

He nods. "You might not believe this," he says, smile growing a bit, "But according to these letters, we're even from the same area."

That throws her off; what are the chances? Sliding into Tatara's side, she looks down at the paper. "Where?" she asks curiously, "Where does it say where I'm from?"

Tatara retrieves one of the envelopes and points to a string of characters on the sender's address line. "Right here. It says, 'Chengdu.' That's where I'm from, too."

Meika looks down at the rest of the letter, and even though she can't read it, she feels as though the characters are more familiar now, something she can lay claim to.

"Would you like me to read it to you?" Tatara asks.

Meika nods. "Please."

Pushing the envelope away again, he holds the paper open with one hand on the table. Meika glances up at him, and he looks back at her, and she remembers again how nice it feels to be close to someone and to trust someone completely. It can't last, she thinks,  _but I'm going to enjoy it while it does_.

Tatara begins to read.


	12. Chapter 12

_1995, June 2_ nd.  
Sister,  
How are you and Mingxia?  I have a friend who tells me that the summer in Tokyo is unbearably hot.  I hope this letter finds you both in good health.  I wish it didn’t cost so much to send mail this way, but we must be discreet.  We all miss you.  It’s lonely without any children in the house.  Please take care of yourself, and take care of Mingxia.  I pray to every Buddha and Bodhisattva that you will be freed of your suffering.  I think of praying for your safe return home, but perhaps that is asking too much.  
Love,  
Hong

 _1995, July 30_ th.  
Sister,  
I bought a jade statute for our home altar, and it made me think of you.  It is sad that you cannot be here with us.  Why is it that being kind gets one punished?  The way of things in this world is backwards.  My thoughts are with you.  
Love,  
Hong

 _1996, April 6_ th.  
Sister,  
Another year goes by without you.  Someday, I hope we will see each other again.  
Love,  
Hong

 _1997, September 18_ th.  
Sister,  
I don’t know if any of my letters have reached you, but I feel as though I must keep writing.  I worry about your safety often, and Mingxia’s safety, as well.  Xuan tells me that Tokyo is very safe, and I believe him, but I would feel better if I heard back from you.  I don’t want you to be upset with yourself.  When you left, I think you were angrier at yourself than anyone else was angry with you.  What you did was the right thing; don’t let anyone make you second-guess your actions that day.  Mingxia will grow up, and she will understand if you only tell her.  
Love,  
Hong

 _1998, February 3_ rd.  
Sister,  
The Chi She Lian came last night with gifts.  They have no shortage of good things to say about you, and though I think you would be embarrassed, your name is one they all know, even though very few of them have met you.  Xuan says they have to go far away for some time, but he hopes to be back soon.  I pray for his safe return.  
Love,  
Hong

 _1999, August 11_ th.  
Sister,  
I held onto the hope that Xuan would come home, but now, I must accept the truth.  There is violence in the streets some nights.  I have heard that the government is going to deploy someone to our town.  How odd; that should make me happy, but it doesn’t.  I think you understand.  Keep Mingxia close to you, and stay safe.  
Love,  
Hong

 _1999, August 23_ rd.  
I sincerely believe in Amitabha Buddha and chant his name.  In my next life, I want to be reborn upon a lotus.  May the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas smile with compassion and continue to turn the wheel of Dharma.    
May we meet again, someday, in one form or another,  
Hong

*

“We all heard this story as children,” Tatara says, an arm over Meika’s shoulder, his weight and warmth reassuring, “Once, the countryside in Sichuan was where ghouls went.  It was a pilgrimage they wanted to make, because they knew it would be safe.  The farmers out there all wanted day laborers and wouldn’t ask any questions as long as the work was done.  I heard it was surreal but somehow comforting, standing so close to the humans and working the land alongside them.  It must have been nice.”

“But the world was changing.  Harsher legislation meant that it wasn’t only ghouls who would be hunted, but also those who helped them.  Slowly, their place in Sichuan disappeared as blind trust gave way to suspicion.  When they had nowhere left to go, they returned to the city with a vengeance.  They say that’s where Chi She Lian came from.”

“Chi She Lian?” Meika repeats, stumbling over the sounds, “What does that mean?”

“It was a ghoul organization,” Tatara says, “We were small, but we were close, like family.  I was raised by that group’s second generation, and they told us all about your mother.”

“They really liked her?”

“It went deeper than that.  One of the elders, a founding member named Tao, was convinced she was a bodhisattva who’d stayed on earth to help spread enlightenment.”  Tatara chuckles.  “I thought he was senile, but some of the others believed him.”

“What, exactly, did she do?”

Tatara shifts uncomfortably and Meika gives him space to stretch, settling adjacent to him at the table and looking down at the pile of letters.  “She saved their lives,” he says, “Chi She Lian had always been a small group and struggled to keep itself afloat.  With so few members, a single bad encounter with a government agent could wipe out half of the organization, and, in fact, did.  Your mother happened upon the survivors—Tao and the others—as she was coming home one evening.  They both believed the meeting was fated.”

“So she hid them,” Meika reasons, “And they were grateful afterwards.”

“Yes.  In fact, when she decided to leave the country, they helped her with that, too.” 

“I’d love to know how that all went over with my grandparents,” Meika laughs.

“It went well, apparently.  You come from a family of devout Buddhists; none of them saw anything wrong with helping ghouls.”  He pauses, glancing pointedly at the suitcase on the other side of the table.  “You were planning on leaving?”

Meika can’t meet his gaze.  “I still am,” she says, feeling guilty for some reason.  She can feel Tatara’s eyes on her.

“I wouldn’t go anywhere if I were you.  It’s not safe.”

“It’s not safe here, either,” she insists, “I’m sure somebody has looked into what Kurita was investigating before you killed him.  It’s only a matter of time before the CCG—!”

“Don’t worry about the doves.”

“Why?  Because you’ll kill whoever comes after me next?” 

Tatara doesn’t answer; Meika realizes this, too, is a stupid question.

“If anyone who comes after me gets killed by ghouls, I’m going to start looking really suspicious, if I don’t already,” she says. 

“If you can wait a few more weeks,” Tatara says, “Things will change.  You won’t have to worry about that anymore.”

Meika furrows her brows, asking, “why?” very hesitantly, not sure if she wants to know the answer.

“I can help you disappear.” 

His earnest words bring a smile to her lips; she doesn’t doubt he’d help her dodge the CCG for the rest of her life.  “It’s not just that,” she admits, “I don’t want to just leave the ward; I want to go to China.”

The surprise immediately shows on Tatara’s face, eyes widening and lips parted.  “Why?” he asks.

“I hear my mother is still alive,” Meika says, “I remember the CCG arresting her, but it doesn’t seem the Chinese government ever got her.  I wonder if she’s somewhere in the countryside, hiding out with the farmers.”

Tatara’s shock hardens into something much more solemn, and the mood seems to darken a bit. 

Meika frowns.  “You don’t think so?”

“Hm.” 

“Why not?” she demands.

He doesn’t answer.  Suddenly, he stands up, going to retrieve his mask from the counter.  “Tatara, wait,” Meika calls, scrambling to get up.

His lower face vanishes beneath the angular red mask, and his eyes seem unreadable.  Meika feels like the man standing in her kitchen is a stranger all over again, a ghoul that she doesn’t really know, and she takes a reflexive step back away from him.  “I’d rather you don’t leave the ward,” he says coolly. 

“Why?” Meika asks.

Tatara steps around her and heads for the door.

 _Nothing good ever lasts._   Her mother had told her that.  _The world, and everything in it, is impermanent._

“You know something,” she mutters. Tatara freezes at her door, back turned to her.  “There’s more to that story.”  The words are meant to come out calmly, but they’re sharp and hysterical, an accusation. 

“I have nothing more to say about your mother,” he says, unmoving, “But I would like you to stay here.”

“I’m not staying here.  If you won’t tell me what happened to her, then I’ll go find out for myself.”

“There’s nothing for you in China.  You might as well stay here.”

“Why?” she demands again, “Because my mother is dead?  Because Chi She Lian had something to do with it?  Because—!”

He rounds on her suddenly, regarding her with hardened eyes that she can’t believe were so warm just moments ago, towering over her, and Meika remembers that she’s looking at a ghoul that could kill her now if he was so inclined.  One of his pale hands grips her shoulder, hard enough to bruise.  “Don’t blame Chi She Lian,” he says, sounding truly angry for the first time since she met him, “If you’re going to blame anyone for your misfortune, you should blame your mother.”

Meika stares up at him, frozen.  “What does that mean?”

Tatara’s grip loosens slowly, and then he steps back from her, the distance leaving her feeling cold even with the blanket on her shoulders.  He doesn’t say anything else as he turns and opens the door to a dark and dying ward.  A sick feeling of betrayal settles in, and Meika swallows the lump forming in her throat. 

“I trust you,” she says desperately. 

He doesn’t stop to look back.  “You probably shouldn’t,” he says, and the door slams shut in his wake.

*

Everything comes together nicely in the following days.

A week passes without Tatara darkening her doorway again, and Meika’s resolve hardens.  The forecast predicts a few surprisingly warm days for early December, and Kazuichi even shows up, though his knocking is much shorter and more frantic than usual.  She lets him in, glances around to make sure he wasn’t followed, and locks the door behind him. 

“I need info,” she says.  He stiffens at the words, and she gives a nonthreatening smile.  “What’s Aogiri Tree up to these days?  You’re working for them, right?  Tell me what’s going on.”

“I couldn’t tell you all that much if I wanted to,” he says, “I hardly know anything.  I’m an underling, and I think my usefulness has all but expired.”  He takes a deep breath.  Meika feels a twinge of sympathy for just how ragged he looks, hair greasy and slick with sweat.

“Come here,” she says gently, starting the water in the sink, “Let me wash your hair.”  Kazuichi drags over, his motions sluggish, and Meika sees that his eyes are bloodshot; he looks like he hasn’t slept in days.  “It’s been a little while since you came by.  Did something happen?”

He doesn’t answer for a while, but she feels him relax under the warm water, leaning into her fingers as she rubs his scalp.  “I’m going to run away,” he says suddenly.

Meika’s movements still completely, and the only sound is that of the water running, muffled by Kazuichi’s head before it runs down the rain, nearly black with dirt and grime.  “Yeah?”

“Yeah.  We’ve just gotta go.  That’s the only way we’re gonna make it.”

“We?”

“I’m bringing some ghouls with me,” he says, “Some friends.  They all stuck with me through this whole mess, from the very beginning.  I owe it to them, since I couldn’t be a leader.  I’ve just gotta lead them out of here.”  His voice cracks, and his shoulders start to shake.  “I can do that much, can’t I?”

“Of course you can,” Meika insists.  She hurriedly rinses out his hair and turns off the faucet, handing him a towel.  Kazuichi holds onto it but doesn’t dry off, just staring down at it in his hands. 

“That’s why I came here today,” he says hoarsely, meeting her eyes, “You should come with us, Meika.”

She tries to smile, but it’s heavy, and it doesn’t stay for very long.  “It’s funny you should mention leaving,” she says, “I’m getting out of here, too, but I can’t go with you.  I’m leaving the country; I have something personal to take care of.”

Kazuichi looks disappointed, but he nods.  “As long as you get out of here.”

“That’s the plan.”

They sit at the table just as they have a hundred times, Meika behind Kazuichi, perched uncomfortably on wooden crates.  Meika works slowly, wanting to remember this; the bend of Kazuichi’s back, the feel of his hair between her fingers.  Someone she could always count on, a real friend, one she doubts she’ll ever see again after today.

“My name is actually Mingxia,” she tells him.

“What?”

“I’m not a legal citizen of Japan.  Mom’s a wanted fugitive in China, so she came here to hide.”

“But you’re going back?”

Meika laughs.  “Sounds backwards, doesn’t it?”

“Sounds dangerous.  You sure that’s a good idea?”

“I ran out of _good_ ideas a long time ago.”

Kazuichi nods.  “Yeah,” he says quietly, “I know what you mean.”

Reluctantly, she cuts his hair, watching damp clumps fall around his shoulders.  “Done,” she says.

“Thanks.”

“Can I ask you something?” 

Kazuichi repositions himself, turning around on the crate to look at her.  “Sure.”

She hesitates.  “Do you know a guy named Tatara?”

She doesn’t miss the way he flinches and glances at the door nervously.  “I know _of_ one.”

“What do you know about him?”

“Not a lot,” Kazuichi says, “He’s part of Aogiri Tree, a high-ranking member.  Why?  Does he come here?”  Meika shrugs, trying to think of a way to dodge the question, but Kazuichi just gets even more upset.  “How often?” he asks, “When did he last show up?”

“About a week ago,” she says, “And he comes by now and then.”

Kazuichi’s complexion is already looking bad, but he turns a shade paler.  “Shit,” he mutters.

“What’s wrong?”

“Our whole escape plan is based off of when all of the local Aogiri higher ups are out of town.  I didn’t even put Tatara into the equation because I’ve hardly ever seen him around, and the rumor was he’d left someone else in charge around here.  But, come to think of it, I still haven’t seen him much.”  Kazuichi glances at Meika, frown deepening.   “How do you even know that name?”

Meika feels like a trapped rat, pinned down by Kazuichi’s gaze.  She doesn’t want to lie, but she doesn’t want to tell the truth.  _Tatara, of this band of murderers and monsters called Aogiri Tree?  I might have slept with him,_ she imagines herself saying.  She tries to come up with a better way to phrase it.

“He’s dangerous,” Kazuichi warns, “They’re all dangerous.  Don’t get mixed up with them.”

Meika meets Kazuichi’s eyes and looks into them for a long time, memorizing the color.  She remembers them being something close to amber or even gold, like the sun at midday, a beacon that shone overhead, a guidepost.  She thinks she must be imagining the rust and decay she sees now, the way they’ve dulled into something hopeless, wilted flowers and dying stars.  There aren’t a lot of things about the 11th ward that she’s going to miss, but she knows she’ll miss him.

“Sorry, Banjou,” she says quietly, “It’s too late for you to warn me about that.”

Kazuichi jams his hands into his pockets and drops the entire contents—a few measly yen—onto the table.  “Take care of yourself,” he says.

“You, too.”  She takes a deep breath, blinking back tears.  “Goodbye.”

Kazuichi inhales sharply, nods, and then turns away quickly and leaves, back into the heartless land that used to be his home.  Meika runs her hands over her face, feeling more tears coming. 

 _Tomorrow,_ she tells herself, and this time, she means it.


	13. Chapter 13

A light snow falls in the evening.

Meika looks out the window to find crisscrossing footprints lit up by dim streetlamps. She starts saying goodbye, one thing at a time _. Goodbye, familiar carpet stains and ghoul hair clippings that always evade the broom and dust pan_. She throws on a coat and laces up her boots, zips her suitcase shut and goes outside for what feels like the first time in years.  _Goodbye, rice wine crates and yellowed newspapers cut into crinkly origami paper for slow days, deformed paper cranes, lopsided and musty-smelling._ The cold hits her like a wall and she has to turn her face away from the wind as she makes her way down the creaking, metal staircase to the street.  _Goodbye, overpowering, suspicious odors from the neighbors to the left._ A few lingering snowflakes drift past her face, landing in her eyelashes.

_Goodbye,_ she thinks, with only a hint of fondness, and turns her back on it altogether.

If any of her neighbors are still alive, they'll probably say she was eaten, that her fraternizing with ghouls finally proved to be her undoing. Or maybe they'll say she was spirited away by the CCG because of her suspicious behavior, brought in for questioning only to vanish forever. Or, more likely, nobody will say anything at all, because people vanish every day in the 11th ward and one more won't be anything noteworthy. All that will remain will be her urban legend, a woman who cut hair for ghouls, and that, too, will fade with time.

The skyline is tinged a dirty, dark yellow from the lights downtown, the crisscross of powerlines intersecting with the silhouettes of cell phone towers and abandoned housing projects. Meika wonders what will be left when the dust settles, if the war between Aogiri Tree and the CCG will leave nothing at all behind.

She's never seen the streets empty before, and being really truly alone is a strange feeling. The only sound is the whispering of wind as it blows past her and the crunch of her boots in the snow, a slow and steady rhythm that, when suddenly interrupted, makes her freeze and whirl around.

No one's there. Meika knows she can only see as far the ovals cast by the streetlights overhead stretch, and anything could be waiting in the darkness beyond them, hiding in the shadows of buildings, waiting for her to turn her back. She takes a slow, tentative step, still looking over her shoulder and hears no noise. She starts to walk again.

The second time she an extra footstep, she doesn't stop moving, but she does glance back, eyes scanning the street frantically for moving shapes. She can hear her heartbeat in her ears, panic rising, and she almost laughs, thinking how pitiful it would be for her to get eaten the night she plans to escape, what a cruel twist of irony it would be considering how many ghouls she's met in her life, how many she's gotten to know and let into her heart—and her bed.

She looks back again, starting to break into a sprint, and just as she comes to the next corner, someone steps out in front of her and she tries to stop but there's ice under her feet and she slides right into them. A hand clamps down on her shoulder, grip like steel, and she stares up into human eyes. Her heartbeat does not slow in relief; in his other hand, the man holds a briefcase.

"Meika Kuno," he says, "You're coming with me."

No more  _why don't yous_  or  _would you minds_ ; she's obviously exhausted those.

She's brought to the southern ward office—the same one as before, and, to her understanding, one of only two left. The interrogation room looks exactly the same as she remembers it, a thin layer of dust settled on the table, and she wordlessly takes the only chair in the room, glancing up at the soft click she hears as the Investigator who escorted her in leaves and locks the door behind him.

They'd been waiting for her to leave, she realizes. She hadn't gone more than a couple blocks before they'd come after her. She thinks back to Tatara telling her to stay put but shakes her head; the CCG wouldn't have waited forever. Eventually, they would have come to her.

The door opens again and another suit walks in, but Meika recognizes this one, eyes narrow and hair parted down the middle. "Here I was hoping I wouldn't see you here again," Itsuki Marude says, sounding genuinely disappointed. "But you're in pretty deep, aren't you?"

Meika props an elbow up on the table and rests her head against her hand, shutting her eyes. "You have no idea."

"I think I might," he says, setting a briefcase on the table. It really is just a regular briefcase, though, and not one of those weapons Meika has heard about; when he opens it, there's just a tall stack of papers inside. He sets the top sheet down and turns it for Meika to look at. It's the fake family registry, probably Shikao Kurita's copy, since all of the red marks seem to be in the same places that she remembers. "Does this look familiar?"

"I'm not the one who had it made."

"It's not bad," he says, "It would take a critical eye and some digging around to find out it's a forgery. I'm not surprised you got by with it for so long without anyone noticing." He raises his wrist, sliding back the sleeve of his suit jacket and checking his watch. "Want something to drink?"

"Am I going to be here a while?" Meika asks.

He smiles tightly.

"Do you have coffee?"

*

It's the same terrible store brand that's sold locally, not that Meika was expecting much. Itsuki comes back with a cup for himself, too, and a folding chair under his arm. "You don't mind if I sit," he says absently, more for the sake of conversation than to really ask a question. Meika isn't aware of what standard procedure is for CCG interrogations, but she doesn't really care and gives a shrug. "Let's talk about Shikao Kurita."

She lets out a long sigh.

"You'll notice I'm not accusing you of his murder, or the murder of his assistant."

"You think I have something to do with it," she says.

Itsuki looks across the table patiently.

"I don't," she says stubbornly.

"Sure. So all of this," he says, gesturing towards his open suitcase and the papers inside, "Has nothing to do with the reason they're dead."

Meika glances down at it. "What all is in there?"

"Take a look."

She raises a brow at him, wondering if this is some kind of trap, but he just stares back, and she eventually gives in, picking up the stack with both hands and spreading it out in front of her. The first few sheets are all related to the family registry, pages upon pages pointing out inconsistencies and tracking Lin Zhou's movements across Tokyo from the moment she flew into Narita years ago. She'd taken on a few variations of her name over the years—Lin Amano or Lin Kitagawa—but apparently that hadn't thrown Kurita off of her trail.

Meika turns the page and finds Tatara's frozen face staring back at her in a photograph, wearing the same mask and a similar coat, but his eyes seem younger. "You know much about the Chi She Lian?" Itsuki asks, and she glances up to find him watching her very carefully.

"Not really," she says, and she feels that she isn't lying. There are a few more photos paperclipped behind Tatara's, and she assumes they're all part of the same group, but the rest of them all have little X's drawn in the bottom right corner.

"You know that ghoul in the first photo, though." Meika looks up again to disagree, but she realizes it wasn't phrased as a question. Itsuki is frowning, his coffee long abandoned on the edge of the table. "He's the only survivor."

"What?"

"From Chi She Lian," he elaborates.

Meika looks down again, horrified. She quickly flips through the pictures, faces that aren't much older than her, one of a boy who couldn't have been out of junior high.

"They were a terrorist organization," Itsuki adds. He leans over the table a bit, reaching across it to put a hand on Meika's shoulder. "You don't have to be the bad guy here," he says, "I can help you get out of this, but you have to be willing to talk to me."

Meika weakly pushes his hand away. "No," she says, "You can't help me."

"I can," Itsuki says firmly, "You just have to trust me."

She meets his eyes. "I can't."  _Not you, not anyone else. I can't trust anybody._  It's taken her a long time to figure it out, but she's learned that lesson the hard way by now.

Itsuki Marude shakes his head, staring down at the papers for a minute. "Alright," he says quietly, standing up, "That's fine." He walks towards the door. Meika realizes the ward is half-empty and she's an undocumented illegal alien—nobody will notice or care if she's missing for days, or weeks, or forever. "It's up to you," Itsuki says in the doorway to the interrogation room, "How long you're in here."

She doesn't look at him.

The door slams shut behind him, and the lock clicks into place.

*

Meika doesn't know how long she's been in the building. She's been allowed to use the bathroom with an escort, but the hallways don't have windows, and other than that, she spends all day in the interrogation room. They don't give her a bed and they don't turn off the glaring, white lights. When she's tired, she slumps over the table in her chair, and inevitably, the door will fly open and Itsuki will arrive with a crooked smile and another cup of coffee.

"Don't people die without sleep?" she asks, words all slurring together with exhaustion, "What'll you do if I die? Isn't my information worth something?"

"It's fine," he says, waving his hand and setting the coffee down on the table, "You're fine. I'm not going to let you die."

He's starting to grow on her. He's straightforward and almost casual in their conversations. When he comes in for the first time in hours, he tells her what the weather's like outside and what new TV dramas are coming out. She wishes she could trust him; more than that, she wishes he actually could help her.

She thinks she's doomed now, though. If she isn't deported as soon as she's complied with the interrogation, she can't imagine she has very long left to live in the 11th ward.  _The humans are going to lose_ , she thinks,  _and nothing, not even our bones, will be left_. She wants to hate Tatara, but she can't bring herself to remember his last visit without her eyes misting over. She hates the thought of him, at the very least, for tormenting her.

Meika loses track of time. Days might have gone by; she thinks they must have. Itsuki leaves a change of clothes outside of the bathroom the next time she goes, and she recognizes them from her suitcase, which must still be in the building. She thinks about running sometimes, just seeing how far she can get. She wonders how long it'll be before she's more trouble than she's worth. Surely Itsuki's patience has limits.

She rests her head on the table, eyes fluttering shut. The door opens again and she groans, but when she looks up, there's a stranger at the door. This Investigator is someone she hasn't seen before, suit impeccable, a large briefcase in hand that she doubts is just a briefcase. "Where's Mr. Marude?" she asks him.

"He's busy," is the only answer she gets, "I'll be handling your interrogation now."

"Busy with what?"

"You don't need to know."

Meika sighs, leaning over the table again.

"Sit up. We're going to resume questioning."

"I can't," she says, "I physically can't keep my eyes open. You have to let me get some rest. Come back in an hour."

A rough hand on her shoulder pushes her upright. "You don't have that luxury. What do you know about Aogiri Tree?"

"What?"

"Aogiri Tree," the Investigator repeats impatiently.

Meika presses a hand to her forehead; does it feel hot? She's not sure. She feels a little lightheaded. "What does that—? I don't know. I don't know anything."

"We're already aware that you're connected to the organization."

"That's news to me," Meika snaps. She's surprised when she doesn't get a follow-up question, or a reprimand, or anything at all. The room is completely silent. She looks up and the Investigator is still there, but he's rummaging through his pocket. Eventually, he pulls out a pack of cigarettes. Meika lets out a long, relieved sigh at having a quiet moment and lays her head down again. She smells it when he takes the first puff but it doesn't bother her much. She hears the door open and shut, and relaxes when his footsteps go down the hall.

Then the fire alarm starts to go off.

Meika jolts upright and looks around in a panic. She doesn't smell any smoke, but when she listens, it occurs to her that she doesn't hear it going off in the hallway, or anywhere else in the building. The light in the corner of the room is flashing red and white, alarm blaring, and Meika looks around the ceiling, wondering if there's a camera somewhere. She covers her ears with her hands and lays her head on the desk, uncovering them a few minutes later when it stops. He ears are still ringing when the door slams open and her interrogator comes back.

His eyes bore into her as he takes another drag, exhaling a line of smoke. He pockets the lighter and leans against the wall, arms crossed, and Meika slumps over in the chair. "This can't be legal," she groans, "You're going to kill me like this." She looks over at the Investigator, every muscle in her body tense and waiting.

He doesn't say anything. He waits a few more moments, watching her, and then he goes back out into the hall.

The alarm goes off again just as Meika's eyes begin to shut.

She whimpers.

*

Hagi always smells like cigarettes.

His coat, his hair, his fingers; Meika always smells like it, too, because they wrap around each other and breathe each other and taste each other, and by the end, the scent clings to her. "What are you doing here?" she asks him. It smells like him all around her, so he must be somewhere. "Why haven't you visited lately? This place is such a shithole. I guess I don't blame you for leaving."

"I didn't leave," Hagi says. She thinks that's what he says; there's a shrill noise in the distance, rhythmic and pulsing, punctuating his words. "I wouldn't have left you behind."

"But you did," she argues, "I know you did. I know you." When she closes her eyes, she thinks she can see him, but when she opens them, it's all just blurry, rotating red and white, so bright it hurts to see. She shuts them again. "You died. You left me here all by myself."

"No," Hagi says. Well, no, it can't be Hagi, not if he's dead. But it sounds just like him. A ghost, maybe, a lingering memory, holding onto Meika's shoulders, squeezing tight. It hurts a little bit. "I didn't leave you alone. You have Banjou, don't you? He's not the brightest, but he's got a good heart. You've got him."

"He's gone, too, now," Meika says, "And he wasn't you. I still think about you. When nobody's there, I think, 'I wish Hagi were with me.' All the time."

"No you don't." She's shaking; someone is shaking her, trying to get her attention. "You don't think about me all the time. And that's okay."

"Sorry." Meika starts to cry. "I  _do_  wish you were here. I'm scared. I don't want to die. Tatara, I don't want to die."

"My name isn't Tatara."

"Sorry. Sorry, that's right. I knew that."

Somewhere in the distance, someone is shouting. An alarm is sounding, people are running. There's a clatter and a crash, cards falling, walls crumbling. Something hits her hard, but it rolls off of her, or maybe she rolls off of it, and she lays on her back staring up at red lights dancing in the night sky.

Hagi—but not Hagi, because Hagi is dead—stands somewhere just out of her line of sight, a looming shadow. His form overlaps with Tatara. "I hate you," she lies, but she says it firmly, again and again. She wants to hurt him. "I hate you so much." He doesn't answer. Suddenly, she's weightless, being lifted off of the ground. "I don't really," she says quietly, "I tried, though. I don't know why I couldn't."

"You love him," Hagi says, except it isn't Hagi. She's just talking to herself now.

"I love him," she says again, "I'm so stupid. I love you."

But when she takes a deep breath, she doesn't smell the herbal, musky scent she's come to associate with Tatara. This isn't anything like that; it's mostly sweat and blood, a complete stranger.

"You're not Tatara," she says, or tries to say, but the noises are behind her now, fading into a dull murmur along with her own voice. It's cold and dark, and all she can hear is the wind.

Before long, she can't hear anything at all.


	14. Chapter 14

“Look, Mingxia,” Meika’s mother says in a time before she was Meika.  She’s unwrapping a calendar with bright flowers for each month.  January has a flower she’s seen before, a pale pink blossom unfurling towards the sky, reaching out of a pond on a slender green stalk.  “What’s this flower called?”

“ _Liánhuā_ ,” Mingxia says proudly, but her mother shakes her head.

“That’s what it’s called at home,” she says, “But what about here?”  Mingxia frowns, disappointed.  She doesn’t know the answer.  Her mother hangs the calendar on the wall and steps back to admire the image.  “It’s called a lotus.”

“Lotus?” Mingxia repeats curiously.

“That’s right.”

When her mother walks away, Mingxia follows.  The threshold between rooms seems to stretch on forever, and by the time she reaches the next room where her mother stands before their home altar, hands pressed together tight, muttering a sutra, she is no longer Mingxia. 

Several years have gone by.  Meika’s hair brushes past her shoulder blades and her eyes have narrowed from childish curiosity to something more somber.  She notices things she never saw when she was younger, like her mother’s trembling shoulders and bony wrists, how pale she is, how little she eats.  She cries when she prays, and Meika has never known why.  She feels like she shouldn’t ask.

“You remember the lotus, don’t you, Meika?” her mother asks, and her voice sounds hollow.  Meika feels like she’s been watching the life slowly drain out of her mother over the years, the light slowly leaving her eyes as she speaks less and less.  Some days, she stands in front of the altar for hours at a time and doesn’t even speak unless it’s to recite the sutra.  Meika comes home from school and her mother hasn’t moved; she feels like she lives with a ghost, or no one at all.  “You remember what it means?”

“A lotus rises out of murky and clouded waters,” Meika says, like she’s said a thousand times.  Her mother asks her this often, as though afraid she might forget.  “Out of the dark and into the light.”

“Towards enlightenment,” her mother murmurs, “Towards purity.” 

“Mom, you haven’t eaten yet today.”  Or yesterday, come to think of it, and what about the day before?

“I’m alright.” 

Meika takes a step back over the threshold and into the living room, and even though she doesn’t touch it, the screen door shuts between them.  She reaches, trying to open it again, but it’s stuck on something.  Her mother is still in the next room; she can see her silhouette, can hear her praying.

“If I had to go somewhere,” her mother says, a second voice over her chanting sutras, “If I just had to leave tomorrow, you’d be alright, wouldn’t you, Meika?  You’d know what to do.”

“What?  What are you talking about?”  She’s still trying to open the door.  She was afraid to break it before, afraid her fingers might skid across and tear into the paper or she might yank it off of the track.  She pulls harder.

The sutras grow louder, deafening, even.  Meika winces, wanting to clap her hands over her ears, but she wants to reach her mother, wants to break down the door.  “The lotus,” her mother is saying distantly, nearly drowned out by her own chanting, “The lotus is the seat of Buddha.  How wonderful it would be, to be reborn upon one in the next life.  That’s why we have to keep trying, Meika.  We have to dispel our bad karma from all of the wrong we have done.  We have to pray that we are forgiven.”

Meika is a teenager now, home from high school, as wiry as her mother, fingers slender and just as skilled with a pair of scissors.  Somehow, time is flying by, slipping through her fingers, turning her healthy tan to a sickly pallor.  If she looked in the mirror, she would probably see her mother there.  She throws the door open just as she becomes an adult but her mother is gone.  The flowers and offerings that should be on the altar are scattered around the room, porcelain vases shattered and candle wax smeared over the floor.  Her mother is long gone, gone the night before.  Meika had been angry, she remembers, and lost, and she hadn’t come home at all after school, only stumbling upon the scene the next morning. 

“Investigators,” the neighbors say, “In the middle of the night.”

Meika wonders what her mother did.  Not that night, necessarily, or in the nights leading up to it, but before then, before Tokyo.  Why did she cry when she prayed, why did she obsess over the lotus, why, why, why? 

 _What did you do?_ she wonders, _What are you supposed to be forgiven for?  Who is supposed to forgive you?_

She never did ask, and now she wishes she had.  She doesn’t know if she’ll have a chance now. 

“Do you think he killed her?” Hagi’s voice comes from behind her.

“Who?”  Meika pretends she doesn’t know.  She doesn’t want to talk about it.

“You know who.  Don’t be difficult.”

She turns around, but no one is there.  She’s all alone.  The house is silent, and outside, the sun is starting to rise.

*

“Did you know that you cry in your sleep?”

Meika knows she isn’t dreaming anymore because everything hurts.  It hurts to sit up, it hurts to move, it hurts to breathe.  She struggles to sit upright, one flailing arm catching a reaching hand that pulls her the rest of the way.  Wherever she is, it’s dark, and she can faintly smell blood and rot wafting in from somewhere outside.  As her eyes adjusts, she squints into the dark.  The figure in front of her is a small girl wrapped in bandages from head to toe, but Meika can make out the contours of a face peeking out from beneath a magenta hood.  She knows when she’s being stared at.

“I what?”  The stranger’s words suddenly sink in and she touches a hand to her face, finding drying tear tracks along her cheeks.  “Where am I?”

She doesn’t get an answer right away.  Her companion continues to stare silently, studying her face, and Meika glances around the room.  It’s empty, like the interrogation room, but the walls aren’t uniformly painted and the air smells musty.  The floor is grimy and damp, slickness glowing in the little light that streams in through a small square window high off the ground. 

The girl jumps to her feet.  “This,” she says, and spreads out her arms in a dramatic manner, “Is your cage, little bird.”

Meika swallows hard.  She’s getting that nagging feeling again, that tickle of fight-or-flight that tells her she’s talking to a ghoul.  “What?”

“Your cage,” the girl repeats simply, and gives a childlike laugh, “If you thought your world was small before, it’s about to get quite a bit smaller.”

“Do I know you?”

“You might,” the girl says playfully, “Would you like to know for sure?  You cut hair, don’t you?  Maybe you could cut mine.”  Her hands rise to her face, slipping into the hood, and Meika sees the bandages begin to loosen.  “Of course,” she says, tilting her head, and Meika feels eyes on her, “If I showed you, then there’s no way I could let you leave your cage.  Wouldn’t Tatara be angry then….”

Meika is startled into lucidity immediately.  “Tatara?” she echoes.

The stranger presses one hand to where her mouth must be, giggling, and Meika flushes when she realizes how desperate she must sound.  “I don’t envy you at all,” the girl says in a pitying tone, “Haven’t you ever heard stories about humans and ghouls trying to be together?  It doesn’t end well.”

Meika has a sudden juvenile urge to deny it, to say something like, _“It’s not like that!”_ But she stops herself because she realizes it _is_ like that, even if she just stumbled in head first and knew she’d be better off not falling in love.  “Where is he?”

“So nosy,” the girl huffs, “He’ll be back soon.  Just wait patiently until then.”  A dull pain blooms near the top of Meika’s head and she gingerly runs her fingers over her scalp, finding the skin tender.  “The dove’s headquarters collapsed all around you,” she hears, “I hear you just sat there and got hit on the head.”

It starts coming back in bits and pieces; Itsuki Marude and a lot of bad coffee, bright lights, an alarm.  Confusion starts to settle in.  “Wait,” she says, “Then, who…what…?”

“Ah, _now_ you’re waking up.  Asking the important questions.  I don’t think I should tell you everything, though.  All that matters is that you stay here.”

“I can’t stay here,” Meika says, trying to get to her feet, but a wave of dizziness and nausea washes over her and she crashes back to the floor, lying on her side.  “I-I have to go.”

“Go where?” the girl laughs, going to kneel in front of Meika, head tilted curiously.  “You’re in no shape to leave, let alone walk, for a while.  I’m doing this for your own good, you know.  Once you step outside that door, you’re on your own.  I’m not going to protect you from hundreds of hungry ghouls.”

Meika glances at the only door in the room, battered and hanging crooked on the hinges.  The girl doesn’t say anything for a moment, but Meika thinks she’s looking closely at her face and reading her intentions.  She leans in close, and Meika sees the bandages shifting with her breathing.  “You can try to run, if you want,” she whispers, “But if you do, I’ll break your legs.”  She sounds like she’s smiling.

Then she stands up straight and pats the dust off of her dress, apparently satisfied with how much Meika is shaking.  “I’m not going to waste all day watching you, so I’m going to trust you to be good,” she says dismissively, “But I’d really rather you don’t do anything stupid.  I want to get to know you better.”  Her head is still turned in Meika’s direction, but Meika doesn’t feel that she’s being stared at.  “I want to know what kind of person falls in love with a ghoul,” the girl says quietly.

The door opens and shuts, and there’s the sound of a key turning a heavy lock.  Meika remains on the floor, fighting back angry, frustrated tears, and when her eyelids grow heavy, she doesn’t fight sleep.

*

She wakes up to a firm but gentle hand on her shoulder, shaking her.  Meika rolls onto her back, rubbing her eyes, and through her blurry vision, she sees Kazuichi Banjou.  She doesn’t trust her eyes, though.  She’s been dreaming of people who aren’t around anymore for what feels like days, and wasn’t he supposed to have left the ward? 

“Go away,” she says, covering her eyes, “You’re a dream.  Go away.”

“What—?  Meika, I’m not a dream,” she hears, “Stop messing around.”

“I’m not,” she snaps.  The hand leaves her shoulder.  Meika remains in silence, waiting to hear Hagi or Tatara’s voice next, but never does.

Instead, she hears Kazuichi again, and he says, “So you didn’t get out either, huh?” 

Slowly, she uncovers her eyes and finds him sitting on the floor next to her, looking mostly the way she remembered except for the coat he wears, not unlike Tatara’s, but in the color of dried blood.  “No,” she murmurs, “I didn’t.”  Kazuichi offers a hand and she takes it, wincing at the pain in her head when he pulls her so she’s sitting upright. 

“You okay?  Did they hurt you?”

Meika shakes her head.  “No, I’m fine.  Concussed, if anything.”  She smiles bitterly.  “I didn’t even make it out of the ward; doves caught me down the street from my apartment.  I was interrogated for a few days, and I guess…I got here somehow.  I was a little out of it at the time, I don’t remember it all.”

Kazuichi hasn’t smiled once since she woke up, not even a small one.  “Do you know where we are?”

“No.”

“This is Aogiri Tree’s base.”

She feels like she should have known, but it still comes as a shock.  The name “Aogiri Tree” had always been some invisible specter hanging over the ward for her, a nebulous threat with no face.  Knowing that Tatara was a part of it didn’t help, because she couldn’t connect the images of death and destruction shown on the news with how gentle he’d been. 

“I don’t know why you were brought here,” Kazuichi admits, looking at the floor, “Humans have never been in here, unless…they’re….”  He can’t seem to bring himself to finish the sentence, but Meika already knows what he means to say.  “But that can’t be it, because I’m supposed to be keeping you alive.”  He says it with conviction, clinging desperately to whatever silver lining he can come up with, and digs through the pocket of his cloak, producing a couple of rice balls in plastic wrap. 

Meika doesn’t even know what’s in them or what flavor they are, but her mouth is already watering at the sight of food.  Her fingers dig into the plastic, shaking hands struggling to tear it off.  Kazuichi looks pained when he leans forward, helping her unwrap them.  “What happened to you, then?” Meika asks between bites, mouth full of rice.  “You were going to leave, too, weren’t you?”

Kazuichi doesn’t look at her, and he doesn’t answer. 

Meika swallows what’s left of the first rice ball and stops to breathe, glancing at him.  “Banjou?”

Still, he doesn’t speak.  He sits quietly, hands in his lap closing into fists, and begins to tremble.  Meika eats the second rice ball in complete silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to leave you hanging, but I've got an exam next week, so that update might be delayed.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! Finals are looming closer but until then updates will be regular.
> 
> We're winding down into the home stretch now.

Meika’s headache eases as days go by and the little window on the back wall filters in sunlight and moonlight in regular cycles.  Kazuichi comes to see her early in the morning, sometime around noon, and in the evening, bringing whatever small rations he’s allowed.  Whoever’s in charge doesn’t seem to know how much food a human really needs to stay healthy, though Meika wonders if they do know and would rather she isn’t strong enough to get too far.  He stays while she eats and lingers for an hour or so before he slips out the door again, looking just as despondent as the day before, and the day before that.

She hears screams sometimes, day and night, that go on for hours, turning into a strangled rumble somewhere far away that fades into the silence.  Whoever it is, she wishes they’d just die already, for her sake as well as theirs.

She thinks about asking Kazuichi about it, but whenever his visits coincide with the screaming, he doesn’t talk at all.  He just listens, eyes glued to the window, and looks as though he might collapse under the weight of a million regrets.

“How bad it is out there?” she asks instead, and he flinches away, as though he forgot she was there, “I mean, if we tried to run, would we get far at all?”

When he turns to her, she sees his eyes shining with tears moments before he wipes them away on his arm.  She wants to comfort him somehow, give him a hug or tell him it’ll all be okay, but she doesn’t think she’d believe her own words.  “Don’t run, Meika,” Kazuichi begs, “Just stay here, please.  I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

Hagi comes to her in her dreams, appearing in the middle of the wreckage that used to be her home after the Investigators took her mother.  They make love on the floor in front of the ruined altar, before an overturned Buddha statue and half-melted candles, the lotus staring down from the wall, its blossom drooping into the muck. 

“Look,” she tries to tell him, “Look, the lotus.  There’s something wrong with it,” but Hagi isn’t looking.  He lowers his head to the crook of her neck and bites down, and Meika feels warm blood spilling from her shoulder, hears it dripping on the floor.  “The lotus,” she says weakly, “It’s falling back in the water.  It’ll never reach enlightenment that way.”  The altar begins to melt, glass dissolving into wood, and the walls all around her begin to run, colors blurring.   

“It doesn’t matter,” Hagi tells her, but when he pulls back from her shoulder, she sees Tatara instead, her blood smeared on his pale lips.  “Why do you want enlightenment so badly?  Don’t you want to stay here with me?”  The house is gone, liquefied and running into the soil.  The city is gone and a forest appears, Chinese parasol trees springing out of the concrete, towering over her, surrounding her, covering her in their shadows.

“I don’t care about enlightenment, really,” she admits, “I just don’t to be afraid anymore.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of here.”

Tatara’s eyes fill with black and red and his grip becomes bruising, leaving reddened marks in her flesh.  Blood is still trickling from her bare shoulder, and she feels droplets roll down her back like rain.  “Yes, there is,” she says quietly.  The leaves are lotuses, she realizes, just as they begin to fall like rotten fruit from their branches and are swallowed up by the dirt.

*

When the door opens the next morning, Kazuichi isn’t alone.  He shuffles inside with his gaze on the floor, not looking at Meika, and Tatara follows, slowly shutting the door behind him.  He’s still wearing his long white coat and angular mask.  Meika doesn’t say anything nor does she stand to greet him, sitting on the hard floor with her knees tucked under her chin and staring at where his coat brushes off the ground.  She doesn’t trust herself to speak without it coming out bitter and hateful, so she waits for him to speak first.

He doesn’t say anything for a while, though.  He glances back at Kazuichi, giving some silent order, and her longtime friend manages to meet her eyes with a pitying glance before he opens the door and slips out.  She doesn’t hear footsteps, so she assumes he’s standing on the other side, waiting for something.  Tatara comes forward and sits down next to her, the front of his coat dragging along the floor and collecting dirt.  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you first arrived,” are the first words to break the silence. 

Meika is about to ask where he was, but the screaming starts again, drifting in through the window, sounding something like a bird frying on an electric line.  She decides she doesn’t need to know.  “This was your idea, then, right?” she asks, “You had me brought here.”

He pauses, holding her gaze.  “I told you not to leave the ward.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered.  The doves were just waiting for an opportunity to bring me in.  If I didn’t leave, they would have been at my door eventually.”

“I would have come for you.”  Meika frowns, but before she can argue, he says, “I did this time, didn’t I?”

“That wasn’t you,” she says, “I know it wasn’t.”

“No.  It was an operative acting on my orders.  Frankly, I’m surprised you could tell the difference, sleep-deprived and concussed.”

Meika feels heat rising to her face and is the first to look away.  “There are things I need to ask you.”

“I’m sure you have plenty of questions.  Unfortuntately, I don’t have a lot of time right now.”

“Then what is this?” Meika snaps, “Just a social visit?  What am I even doing here?  Are you going to eat me after all?”

“We’ve been through this.”

“Lying through omission is still lying, and there’s plenty you haven’t told me.”

One of his hands falls on her shoulder and Meika flinches.  She sees something like guilt flicker across what she can see of Tatara’s face, but it’s gone in the blink of an eye.  “There are things I haven’t told you,” he says quietly, “And there are things I’ve lied about.  But that was not a lie.”

“You told me not to trust you.”

Tatara closes his eyes and his shoulders rise and fall when he takes a deep breath.  Meika wonders if they’re both feeling equally frustrated right about now.  “There are some undesirable things that I have to do,” he says, “And it’s in your best interest that you understand what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Getting myself into?” Meika repeats, laughing sharply and tugging herself out of his grasp, “Oh, you think we’re dating now?  You think there’s something between us?”

Tatara’s eyes narrow.  “Now who’s lying?”

The screaming stops and the room falls silent once again, interrupted only by the occasional rustling outside the door and shuffling below.  Meika puts her head in her hands.  “Tatara, you have me all messed up,” she mutters, “Just when I think I have you figured out, something happens, and I realize I don’t know you at all.  Getting involved with you is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve done some _really_ dumb shit in my life.  I don’t think I could get out if I tried.”

She looks up at him, frustration and helplessness and anger from the previous days boiling over, and she grabs fistfuls of his coat, dragging him down to her level.  “I had dreams,” she hisses, “Where I kept seeing dead people.  And every time I saw my ex, he would turn into you, and you haunted me for days, you wouldn’t leave me alone even when I closed my eyes.  Do you have any idea what that felt like?”

Meika feels a strong hand wrap around her, and she lets Tatara pull her into an embrace.  “I just might,” he says, and despite what’s happened up until now, she’s inclined to believe him.

“I still don’t trust you,” Meika whispers.

“Give me a few days,” Tatara says, “And then we’ll have time to talk.”

“What happens in a few days?”

Tatara pulls away slowly, distancing himself from her.  Meika is prepared for him to walk out, but he actually answers.  “We’ll go to Chengdu together.”

The air itself seems to freeze.  Meika stares, watching Tatara rise to his feet, mind reeling.  “You’re being honest?” she asks, “You’d better be.  If, if you’re lying about that, then I….”  She doesn’t know what she could possibly do.  “I will find a way to kill you, I swear.”

Creases appear at the edges of Tatara’s eyes, the hints of a smile beneath the mask, the first one Meika has seen in what feels like forever.  Even without being able to see it directly, she feels better.  “I’m not lying,” he says, “We’ll go, but only for a couple days.  I just have a few loose ends to tie up.” 

“And we’ll talk about everything,” she says, “About my mother, too.”

“Yes.”  The smile is gone now, and his tone changes from neutral to something solemn.  Meika doesn’t want to let go of the elated feeling from the moment he said the name of her home, but she knows that there’s something behind this visit, maybe something sinister. 

It doesn’t matter; she needs to go.

“I’m going to hold you to it,” she says, and Tatara nods.

“Just a few days,” he repeats, and then he’s out the door and gone like he was never there, and Kazuichi is back, looking worried.

“You okay?” he asks immediately.

Meika can’t get the smile off of her face.  “I’m great,” she says, and yet her voice cracks and she feels tears rising to the surface.  “I’m really great.”  She knows she’s crying, feels tears rolling down her face, and yet she can’t stop smiling.  Something about this just feels so final to her, like she’s reaching the end of something that’s been going on forever, stretching into the distance so far she could never even see where it stopped. 

“I’m going home,” she tells Kazuichi, “After all these years, I’m finally going to go home,” laughing and crying and clinging to his jacket as she realizes home is finally within her grasp.  She wants to see it, needs to see it, needs to know what happened.

But she’s also afraid of whatever’s waiting for her there.


	16. Chapter 16

One of Meika’s long, quiet days is interrupted by the door being kicked open and slamming against the wall, and she scrambles to her feet, immediately on the alert.  Her least favorite customer, Ayato Kirishima, is standing in the doorway, nearly a silhouette with only a flickering hallway light behind him, eyes red and black, the ends of his unruly mop of hair tinged vermillion with fresh blood.  He doesn’t look tired or like he was just in a fight; he’s got a small, confident smirk, seemingly sated for the moment.

 _He just ate_ , she realizes, and that should probably make her feel better, but it really doesn’t.

“Morning, shit stain,” he says cheerfully, “How’ve you been?”

She smiles tightly and bites down a rather scathing response.  No need to fan the flames.  “I’ve been fine, thank you, Kirishima.”

“You look bored to me.  Looking for something to do?”

She hesitates to answer.  The last time she tried to hold a conversation with him, he threw her against the wall, so what the hell is this?  A trick question?  A trap?  “That depends,” she says carefully.

He rolls his eyes and throws something in her direction.  She catches a long garment and holds it up in front of her.  It’s a cloak, identical to the one Kazuichi wears now.  She glances over at him for an explanation and finds him crossing his arms impatiently but still not looking nearly as agitated as she remembers.  “Hurry the fuck up and put it on,” he says, “Unless you want to advertise that you’re the only human in the building?  If someone lunges at you, that’s your problem; I’m not gonna save your ass.”

Meika holds the cloak out away from herself as though it’s dirty—and it probably is.  She doesn’t know if it reeks of blood because everything does and she’s gotten used to the smell.  “I was warned not to leave,” she says.  Really, it was a very strongly worded threat rather than a warning, not that the distinction really matters at this point. 

Ayato rolls his eyes.  “Don’t get your hopes up; I’m not helping you escape,” he says, “I just need to borrow you for a bit.  Eto said it was fine.”

“Who…?  What do you mean ‘borrow?’”  What little humor was on his face is gone now, and Meika realizes she’s quickly exhausting his patience.  “Alright, fine,” she says, throwing the robe on over her head, “But if we get caught, it’s your fault.”

“Yeah, yeah, come on.” 

Meika casts one last glance back at the room before slipping the hood of the cloak over her head and ducking into the hallway, following Ayato down a series of narrow, worn hallways that creak under their feet.  He keeps a brisk pace that she stumbles a few times trying to keep up with.  They pass a handful of other people along the way, all wearing the same cloaks, and they all go silent and rigid as Ayato passes, even when he pays them no mind. 

After a few twists and turns, Ayato abruptly stops in front of a particular door and, seemingly incapable of using handles, kicks it open.  Meika wordlessly follows him inside, finding a communal washroom with several shower stalls.  A collection of shampoo and conditioner bottles are collected around one of the sinks next to a couple combs and scissors.  Meika immediately recognizes them as her own and glances questioningly at Ayato.

“My hair,” he says shortly and Meika can’t help the smile that begins to creep across her face.  “What the fuck is so funny?”

And here she thought she’d been kidnapped for some nefarious purpose, when all Ayato wanted was to have his hair done.  She shakes her head.  “Nothing, Kirishima.  Head in the sink, please.”  She runs the water and waits for it to get warm as he sheds his jacket.  She tangles her fingers in his hair and winces a little in disgust as she pulls globs of drying blood free. 

“What the occasion?” she asks, “Got someone to impress?”

“Like hell,” Ayato scoffs, “You’ve been holed up in that room for a while.  I figured you’d want something to do.”

Meika isn’t sure if he’s trying to cover up that he enjoyed having his hair washed, or if genuinely felt some sort of sympathy.  Either way, she thinks it’s funny.  “Ah.  Well, thank you, that was very thoughtful.”

Ayato doesn’t say anything for a moment, and the sound of running water becomes the only one in the room.  Then, very quietly, he asks, “What the fuck happened to you?”

Meika is surprised by the question and her hands hesitate.  “What do you mean?”

“You were a lot angrier last time.”

 _So were you,_ she thinks, but doesn’t say it, because she supposes that isn’t quite true.  She hadn’t been angry; she’d just been bitter.  She’d been bitter about losing Hagi and bitter about her pathetic way of life and bitter that it would dare to change.  Ayato, too, she’d thought, wasn’t necessarily angry, at least not at her.  He’d been angry at a different human, or maybe a lot of humans, and their image superimposed itself over every one he met afterwards. 

“I’ve been through a lot since the last time you saw me,” she says simply, and lathers her hands with shampoo. 

“It was doves, wasn’t it?” Ayato asks, the slightest hint of aggravation creeping into his voice, “Heard they plucked you off the street and held you for interrogation.  Stupid fuckers can’t even tell the difference between us and their own kind.”

Meika laughs.  “Ah.  It’s more complicated than that.”

“I don’t think it is.”

“Kirishima, do you hate humans?”

“Of course I do,” he spits, “You hate ghouls, don’t you?  That’s just how it is.”

“No.  I don’t hate them,” she says.

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to.”

When she finishes, rinsing out his hair and stopping the water, Ayato lifts his head and takes the towel offered to him.  He looks at her like he’s trying to figure her out.  “If you’re telling the truth,” he says, “Then you’re completely fucking stupid.”

Meika smiles sadly.  “Love makes people stupid.”

Ayato’s expression shifts from confusion to surprise to pity, and then his eyes are drawn to something over Meika’s shoulder.  She turns to find the door to the washroom wide open, though most of the hallway light is blocked by Tatara’s tall frame.  “I was gonna bring her back in a minute,” he says.

Meika can’t make heads or tails of Tatara’s expression when he has his mask on, though like always, when she meets his eyes, she feels her heart beating faster.  “That’s fine,” he says, “Go ahead and finish.  I’ll wait.”

Meika doesn’t move; she feels self-conscious somehow with Tatara watching her.  Ayato wordlessly takes her comb and scissors and thrusts them towards her, and she reluctantly takes them, following him to the corner where he sits down on a stool.  Tatara comes into the room fully and shuts the door behind him, and even though he doesn’t come any closer, Meika can feel his eyes on her. 

“I assume I have you to thank, Tatara, for bringing my supplies all the way here,” she says.  She focuses on Ayato’s hair and doesn’t bother looking at him; she wouldn’t be able to tell anything by his face, anyway. 

“I thought you’d appreciate having them.”  He pauses, and his next words aren’t directed at her.  “I thought I made it clear that she was to remain in that room.”

“Eto told me it was fine,” Ayato says defensively.  Meika can’t help but notice his chatter from before completely stopped when Tatara showed up; she wonders if he’s in trouble.

“I don’t appreciate you going to Eto to undermine my authority, Ayato.”

Ayato grumbles something under his breath and pulls in on himself, shoulders tense.  It reminds Meika of a scolded child.  “In his defense,” she says, “He really did just want me to do his hair.”

The room falls silent again.  Meika hurriedly trims some of Ayato’s split ends, feeling incredibly awkward.  She’s still trying to figure out why she felt the need to interject in the conversation in the first place when she decides she’s done and tells Ayato as much.  He’s on his feet in an instant and bolting towards the door.

“Ayato,” Tatara stops him when he’s inches away from freedom, “Don’t do that again.”  He doesn’t get an answer.  The door is kicked open again and slams shut, and a few angry curses filter in until they grow too distant to hear. 

Tatara’s attention returns to her, and she has to look away, busying herself by returning the scissors and comb to the edge of the sink.  “You defended him,” he says.

She looks up into the mirror mounted on the wall, watching Tatara behind her as he slowly draws closer.  “Yeah.  I don’t know why.”

“You shouldn’t have.  I explicitly told him to leave you alone.”

“He was much better behaved this time.”  Tatara raises a brow in disbelief, and Meika can’t help but laugh.  She turns around to face him, finding him within arm’s reach.  “Watching you two is interesting,” she says, “You act a bit like his father.”

“Really?” Tatara muses, “Just now, you seemed a bit like his mother.  You really shouldn’t spoil him.”

Meika rolls her eyes.  “I would be the fun parent.”

“Then you can’t be upset when one of us has to be the one to administer discipline.”

Meika smiles, and then her smile gradually shrinks as the implications of what they’ve just said begin to sink in.  She feels heat rising to her cheeks and catches creases in the corner of Tatara’s eyes—a smile hidden beneath the mask.  “I don’t want kids,” she says firmly.

“Neither do I.”

“Good.”  Meika looks away, embarrassed.  “Then we’re…in agreement.  I guess.”

“It seems we are.”  One of his hands comes to rest on her shoulder, but it slowly slides down along her arm, Tatara’s fingertips tracing patterns in her skin, and Meika shivers, suddenly aware of how long it’s been.  “I wanted to see you.”

Meika’s brain short-circuits and she promptly loses anything intelligent to say.  “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”  Tatara’s gaze is gentle but still lacking warmth somehow.  “There’s something important I have to take care of,” he says, “In a few days, it won’t be safe here anymore.  You’ll have to go somewhere else for a little while.”

“We’re going to China, right?”

“Soon,” Tatara says, “But there are other things that come first.”  His hands move from her arms to her stomach, reaching for the hem of her shirt, one pulling playfully while the other slips underneath and rises along her bare stomach.  “I thought,” he murmurs, “That maybe _this_ could come before any of that.”

The next thing she knows, Meika is against the wall near the sink, and Tatara’s mask disappears somewhere between him tugging off her shirt completely and burying his face in the crook of her neck.  They’re in some strange washroom in the middle of some kind of ghoul compound, and Meika doesn’t know who’s been in here or died in here or whatever, but she suddenly doesn’t care.

She chases the warm in her stomach ignited by Tatara’s hands on her skin, holds on to the words panted in her ear, and lets herself forget about the world for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing this primarily for the ff.net crowd and deliberately tiptoeing around explicit content, but I realize I could probably come back and expand on some of these scenes. You know. For science.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a rough end of the semester that caught me completely off guard, but it's all done, and I'm on vacation. There's a lot of new work I want to post and some old works that I want to continue, so hopefully the next few weeks will be super productive! Thanks for sticking with me this far!

The ghoul in bandages returns the next day, her silhouette ominous in the doorway despite her small stature.  “Okay, little bird,” she tells Meika, “The cage door opens today.”  Like Ayato who came the day before, she has one of the dark red cloaks in her hands.

Meika is a bit apprehensive, standing against the far back wall eyeing the ghoul distrustfully.  “What happened to breaking my legs?”

“That was only if you tried to run away.  Tatara seems to have you trained well, though.”

Meika frowns tightly.  “That’s not—!”

She blinks and the small ghoul is right in front of her, peering up from beneath her hood through two holes cut into the bandages.  Meika can’t see anything but endless, swirling black.  “You must think you know an awful lot about him by now, since you trust him enough to stay.  You haven’t worried that he might come back and eat you?”

“He promised he wouldn’t.”

“He promised?” the ghoul repeats in a mocking tone, “Well, never mind then, of course _everyone_ keeps their promises.”  Meika opens her mouth to argue, but is cut off.  “Let’s go,” the ghoul says, and begins to walk away, “I’m taking you to your new cage.”

“Excuse me?” Meika asks.

The bandaged ghoul stops in the doorway to look back over her shoulder.  “Your new cage,” she says again, slower this time as though under the impression Meika might miss it otherwise, “Didn’t Tatara tell you?  It won’t be safe here, so he wants you moved somewhere else.”

“And how long is that going to last?”

“I don’t know.”  Meika still can’t see the other ghoul’s face, or what her eyes look like, but she feels she’s being leered at.  “Don’t you _trust_ Tatara enough to just wait and see?”

The small ghoul leads Meika in a different direction than Ayato did, down a winding corridor with a dozen twists and turns, down a couple flights of creaking stairs and out into the cool night air.  Meika takes a deep breath, savoring the scent and the taste.  It suddenly occurs to her that the cloak she’s wearing does, indeed, smell an awful lot like blood. 

“Do you dislike Tatara?” Meika feels she has to ask, “Or is it me you don’t like?”

“Why do you ask?”  Her companion doesn’t turn around to look at her when she speaks, keeping a steady pace down a center street through a complex of buildings Meika thinks she’s seen before deep in the part of town under perpetual construction.  She was fairly certain that no one lived in them.

“You keep asking about how much I trust him.  Are you trying to warn me, or would you rather I leave him alone?”

They don’t go very far; a couple blocks away, deeper into what was once supposed to be the site of luxury apartments where only metal skeletons and the lopsided bases of skyscrapers remain, the ghoul stops in front of a small, mostly completed building that looks like it was intended to be an office.  “I don’t dislike Tatara,” she says, “And I don’t particularly feel one way or the other about you.”  She pauses, then lets out a quiet laugh.  “No, that’s not true.  Actually, I pity you.  I can’t understand why you would do this to yourself, and I’m trying to figure it out.”

“Do what?”

“Love a ghoul.” 

Meika hears a lock turn and the ghoul pushes the door open.  She follows her inside and glances around the bare room, sawdust left in the corners, wooden frames where walls might have gone up. 

The ghoul sighs behind her.  “Home sweet home,” she says, and turns to leave, “The same rules apply here.  Don’t leave without permission.  Tatara will be back for you.  Probably.”

Meika frowns, but she doesn’t argue.  “Alright.”

“Secretly, I’m rooting for you,” the ghoul says, and she sounds like she’s smiling, “I think that’s to be expected, though.  You’re the underdog here, and all of the odds are against you.  Tatara has already ruined your life once, but maybe you’ll both learn your lesson this time around.”

“What?”  Meika turns around, but the ghoul is already closing the door on her.  She hears the lock click into place, and then silence.

*

An hour later, the roof explodes.

Meika’s only warning is the sound of gunfire in the distance for a solid five minutes before a loud blast just overhead, and then wood and metal and support beams are falling all around her.  She runs to the door but the handle only twists halfway, locked, and she doesn’t waste a second before throwing all of her weight against it, running at it until over and over and watching the flimsy, temporary hinges begin to contort before she finally bends it out of place enough to squeeze outside.

She hasn’t really gotten a good look at the 11th ward since her sudden move to Aogiri Tree’s headquarters, but her pace slows as she realizes she’s walked out of one mess and right into another.

There are bodies everywhere; humans in tactical vests and CCG uniforms and ghouls wearing cloaks matching hers.  She steps over corpses still locked in battle, a ghoul’s fleshy, predatory organ lodged in a dead soldier’s stomach and riddled with bullet holes, neither of them moving.  The whole ward seems to be on fire, swaying and glowing golden-orange flames that burst out of windows and doorways, tearing down what little had been built on the edge of town.  

One of the ghouls has an oddly-colored knife jammed in the back of its neck, handle and blade connected seamlessly, and Meika doesn’t think when she kneels to yank it free, the splatter of blood invisible on her cloak.  The weapon is warm, a strange pulsing heat like she’s holding someone’s hand and she can feel their heartbeat through their wrist.  She realizes she must be holding a quinque, and something about that makes her feel a little guilty.

The night sky is ablaze with the 11th ward burning and the flashing lights of emergency vehicles in the distance.  Meika can still hear gunfire coming from the direction of Aogiri Tree’s base, but the way back to town is nothing but a long line of CCG vehicles forming a blockade.  Her steps falter as she realizes she’s caged in. 

 _Wait it out?_ she wonders, but she can’t find anything that looks safe to occupy.  Making a run for it probably isn’t a good idea, either.  If she wasn’t so worried about ghouls in the subway, she’d try heading for the nearest train station.  The sound of snarling has her duck behind a dumpster, knife-shaped quinque held tightly to her chest as she listens to a ghoul’s footsteps steadily coming closer.  She’s about to peer around the side to see what’s happening when she hears running, scuffling and a struggle, and then something that sounds mechanical, moving metal parts.  Blood splashes on the wall, and a body hits the ground. 

“We’ve secured the perimeter,” she hears before the footsteps retreat again.  Peeking around the dumpster, she stares at the back of an Investigator slowly grow smaller as he rejoins his unit, some sort of quinque in his hand that bends at odd angles, fresh blood dripping from it.  A dead ghoul leans against the outside wall of the building across from her, nearly cleaved in two. 

 _Subway it is_.

Meika doesn’t even know where the train station is, but she starts searching for signs, pressing herself to the walls and keeping to the shadows.

Someone steps out of an alley into the narrow road in front her, cutting her off, and she brandishes the quinque in front of her.  “I’m no looking for trouble,” she says, trying to sound confident, but her voice falters anyone when she realizes she knows their face. 

Itsuki Marude is staring back at her with a tired smile stretched thinly across his face.

“What luck,” he says dryly, “I just came back from making an appearance on national television, and who should I run into?”

Meika holds his gaze.  “Get out of my way.”

“I was worried about you.  When I heard the southern branch office was destroyed, I went in with the clean-up crew.  I wasn’t sure whether to be glad or not that I couldn’t find your body.”

“Why bother?” Meika asks angrily, “If I’d been dead, it’s not like you could have done something.  Even if I’d managed to survive and stuck around afterwards, you would have just had me transferred to a different office.”

“The ward’s been evacuated.”

Meika pauses, hands tightening around the quinque.  “You’re lying,” she says slowly, “The CCG trapped us in here like rats.”

“You remember the first time we talked?” he asks, “The first time I brought you down to the office, and you gave me the runaround?  You told me people in the 11th don’t trust the CCG.  That really stuck with me; you might not believe it, but my job is to protect people, so it was disheartening to think an entire ward of Tokyo didn’t think that’s what we wanted to do.  I wanted to prove to them that they could trust us.  There aren’t any trains running because of the ghouls down there, but the roads are open again.”

The sounds of battle echo off of the buildings and through the empty streets.  Another explosion rocks the ward somewhere.  Meika imagines the people of the 11th ward swarming out of newly-opened roadways, clamoring for air that doesn’t reek of blood and somewhere they can live without fear, and she is grateful.

“It doesn’t have to be like this, Miss Zhou,” he says, and her eyes widen in shock.  “I followed up on Kurita’s research.  Your mother really cared about you; I think she regretted that her crimes affected your life.”  His arms rest by his sides and he relaxes his shoulders, expression softening.  “You don’t have to live like this forever.”

Meika shakes her head.  “I can’t stay here,” she says, “Every time I look at you, I’ll just remember what happened to my mother.  I’ll remember that you punish people for being kind.”

“That’s not—!”

She turns to run.  Itsuki Marude’s voice echoes in the emptiness behind her, sounding equally frustrated and dismayed, but she doesn’t stop or even look back, and she doesn’t hear him follow.  Secretly, she’s thankful; she doesn’t like the CCG and she doesn’t trust doves, but she doesn’t think she has it in her to actually stab him if it comes down to it.  She’s backtracking down streets she came through and running increasingly into bodies on the periphery of where the CCG has closed in the Aogiri Tree base.  A handful of ghouls lay motionless in front of her, but a fifth stands off to the side, walking leisurely down the street like there aren’t several battalions of doves just a few blocks away. 

The figure, mask featureless save for a wide grin painted over the lower half, even taller than Tatara, stops when he notices Meika, face pointed towards her but unmoving.  Meika is immediately on the defensive, but she thinks she’s seen that painted smile before, in the hazy world between sleep and waking, sometime during her time in captivity with the CCG. 

“Have we,” she hesitates, “Were you the one who…when the CCG office was attacked….”

He doesn’t say anything.  He’s completely motionless, and Meika can’t even make out the slightest movement of his chest or shoulders, can’t tell if he’s even breathing.

“Do you know where the nearest train station is?” she tries.

The ghoul responds nonverbally, one sleeve-covered arm slowly rising and pointing to his left towards a road Meika hasn’t tried yet.  She wonders if he’s lying; if she’s just imagining things, and he’s going to eat her the moment her back is turned.  She grips the quinque tighter.

“Do you know Tatara?” she asks carefully.

He still doesn’t say anything, pointing again with more urgency, the tips of his fingers poking out at the end of his sleeves exposing blackened nails.  Meika doesn’t know what else to do, so she starts to walk, taking the first few steps backwards while still facing him.  The silent ghoul’s mask turns to follow her as she goes, fixed on her face until she can’t take it anymore and turns around to run.

He turns out to have been telling the truth; she finds the steps that lead below street level with a brightly-painted fence in front, a sign reading “STOP CLOSED” beside it.  She vaults over the fence and takes the steps two steps at a time to the bottom, onto a dusty platform with flickering lights and missing floor tiles.  A couple ghouls in Aogiri Tree cloaks are huddled in the dark on the other side of the tracks, and they flinch when they hear her footsteps.  She thinks of Banjou and ghouls like him, forcibly absorbed into Aogiri Tree against their will, and pays them no mind.

She sits on the edge of the platform, legs dangling over the edge, and drops down onto the gravel beside the tracks.  There are a few abandoned umbrellas and shoes scattered around, a stifling, musty smell, and a few small, dried bloodstains.  The lights further in the tunnel are either shattered or simply turned off, and Meika soon finds herself in complete darkness, stumbling along with one hand on the wall. 

She feels a pang of regret for not taking Itsuki up on his offer, but she knows she couldn’t have anyway.  Her mother wanted to do the right thing; she wanted to help people who were in need.  That was a crime that had pushed her out of her homeland and forced her into hiding, the crime that still haunted Meika today, the reason she had never been able to finish high school or find a real job or live somewhere nicer than the 11th ward for fear of being discovered.

That was why she was in some dark, ghoul-infested subway tunnel instead of evacuating with the other residents. 

“…was that?  Do you smell that?” she hears up ahead and stops in her tracks.  “Smells like a human.”

There’s a long silence.  Meika holds her breath, wondering if it would make too much noise if she tried to take slow steps away.

“Are the doves already moving on from the base?”

“No.  That’s no dove.  I know that smell.”  There’s a rush of wind as someone suddenly comes within reach, and Meika tenses, thrusting the knife-shaped quinque in front of herself blindly, but she doesn’t hit anything.

“What are you doing with one of those?” she hears just over her shoulder and spins around.  It’s a voice she recognizes, even if she can’t see anything.  “It’s disgusting.  Put it down.”

“Tatara,” she breathes, fear rushing out of her all at once. 

“Why are you here?” he demands, hands heavy on her shoulders, “Didn’t Eto tell you to stay—?”

“Are you serious?” she snaps, “You were just going to have me stay down the street from the base?  The one that’s under attack by half the CCG right now?”

“If you waited—!”

“There’s nowhere to wait,” she insists, “The whole thing came down.  Collateral damage, I guess.  The ward’s a mess.”  She pauses.  “A worse mess.”

Tatara doesn’t say anything for a moment.  She only knows he’s still there by the weight of his hands.  “Go on ahead,” he says to someone else, “I’ll be there soon,” and Meika hears footsteps echoing down the tunnel.  He waits until they’re barely audible to speak again, words quiet but with a harsh edge.  “Why did you come here?  You’re smarter than that; you know the underground is filled with ghouls.”

“Above ground isn’t much better.  The CCG formed a barricade around the area, I couldn’t just walk out.”

Tatara’s hands leave her and she momentarily panics, left in the dark again, but forces herself to stay calm.  “I’ll escort you out,” he says, “There should be a place in the 9th….”

Meika frowns tightly.  “No.  Not until you tell me what happened.  The whole thing, not just parts of it.”

“What are you—?”

“My mother,” Meika growls, “And Chi She Lian, and whatever else is involved.  You’ve been keeping things from me, and I never said anything before because I was so desperate to have something to hold onto.  I’m afraid, Tatara.  I don’t want to die.”

“You’re not going to die.”

“How can I trust you?  This whole time, I let myself get swept up in you, and my feelings, and all of things you promised.  But I know there are things you aren’t telling me.”

Tatara is silent for a moment.  “If I tell you the truth,” he says, “It’s not going to make you trust me.”

Meika stares into the darkness, glaring, hoping she’s actually looking at him and not at empty space.  She jumps when she feels him come closer, his cloak brushing against the front of hers. 

“Mingxia,” Tatara says softly, “Your mother is dead, and it’s my fault.”

“What else?” Meika demands, despite her throat tightening painfully. 

“She’s been dead for a while now.  The CCG doesn’t know because the Chinese government has no confirmation, no corpse.  But she is dead.”  He pauses, and Meika thinks she hears just the slightest tremor in his voice, barely detectable.  “Our first meeting wasn’t random, either.  I didn’t come investigating a rumor; I knew who you were already, how you were related to Lin Zhou, but I pretended I had no idea.  I hoped you’d never find out what happened, and I thought about lying to you when you brought me the letters, but I couldn’t.”  He sighs.  “I didn’t want you to chase after her because I knew you’d only be disappointed in the end, but I didn’t want to tell you the truth, either.”  He pauses.  “I’m sorry.”

Meika stares numbly up at where she thinks he is, arms hanging limply by her sides.  She hears the quinque clatter to the floor but doesn’t really think about it.  “I knew,” she whispers, “I knew my mother was dead already.  I knew that she couldn’t really be alive.”  But she still feels tears warming her cheeks, running down her face and collecting along the edge of her chin.  “I knew that already,” she says hoarsely.

Tatara wraps his arms around her, surrounding her with his familiar scent.  “Let me go,” Meika mumbles, “Let me go, I hate you.  I…I hate you,” but she leans into his embrace and buries her face in his chest, sobbing, “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”

Tatara just holds her and doesn’t say a word.

Meika thinks of the lotus, its delicate blossom turned up towards the sky as it rises up from beneath the water’s surface, petals curling and rotting with age, the flower bending back to the water and drowning in the darkness it came from.  It has nowhere to go, Meika thinks, nowhere to run to and no way to escape.  It just sinks back quietly into the depths it was so sure it had escaped from. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on break, which is good, because I can get lots of writing done.
> 
> I'm on break, which is bad, because I can also sleep all day.
> 
> I'll find balance sometime, I promise.

Meika can smell the sea.

She sits on the edge of the pier, legs dangling over the side and fingers hooked into the cool grating, and she stares down at the murky water with the night sky reflected on its surface, a soft glow from the fires burning in town.  Though he isn’t standing close enough for his reflection to appear, she knows the ghoul with the wide-mouthed mask is behind her somewhere—Noro, Tatara called him, when he left her there.

“He said it was his fault,” she says, and she isn’t really talking to Noro but he’s the only one there, “But he didn’t say he killed her.  How am I supposed to take that?” 

Noro doesn’t answer.  He hasn’t spoken once, not to her or to Tatara, and she’s starting to think that he just doesn’t.

“Was he just trying to soften the blow?” Meika wonders aloud, “Or was he an accomplice?  Did he see it happen and just not do anything?  That still makes him guilty.”

The sounds of battle are beginning to die out, giving way to an unsettling silence.  A harsh wind blows over the water and Meika pulls her legs up onto the pier, tucking them under her chin. 

“This is ridiculous, right?” she whispers, “I’ve been jerked around by so many people the last few days I’ve lost track.  He says he has one last thing to show me, but I don’t really owe him anything, do I?”  She glances back over her shoulder, just to make sure Noro is actually still there.  The tall ghoul is still standing a few feet away, mask turned in the direction of the water, motionless.  She can’t even see him breathe. 

She can still remember looking back and seeing Tatara next to him, looking ghostly beside Noro in all white, regarding her with an expression that she couldn’t read because of the mask on his face.  “Wait for me,” he’d said, but Meika was so tired of waiting.

*

_He’d led her through the subway tunnels one slow step at a time, and she thought he must have seen something in the darkness that she couldn’t by the way he sometimes stopped.  She held onto one of his sleeves and felt like a child, but in her other hand she still held the knife quinque, having fallen to her knees to feel for it on the ground.  She couldn’t see Tatara, but she could feel his disapproving stare.  She’d told him she wanted to keep it, just until this was all over._

_“You’re going to hurt yourself,” he’d said, “You don’t even know how to use that thing.”_

_“I think I know how to use a knife.”_

_“It’s not a regular knife; if you cut me with that, it’ll break the skin.”_

_“I know.”_

_He didn’t say anything for a while.  They made a few turns down the winding tunnels, and every now and then, Meika thought she might see something moving in the dark.  “There really is something I wanted to show you at home,” he said, the last word carrying a weight that made her understand where exactly he meant, “But I doubt you want to make that trip with me anymore.”_

_“What exactly is it that you wanted me to see?”_

_He fell silent for a time, and she heard their footsteps echoing down the tunnels.  “I need to pay my respects,” he said, “It’s something I go back to do every year.  There are a few ghouls who still live there, friends of Chi She Lian.  If you asked them for the truth, they would tell you; they have no reason to lie to you.”_

_“Unless you told them to lie.”_

_“No,” Tatara said softly, “I didn’t.  I have no reason to lie to you, but I’ve given you no reason to trust me, either.”_

_They emerged from the tunnels after some time, and Meika was grateful to leave the stale, underground air.  They’d reached the waterfront, where the city ended and long metal piers stretched out into the ocean.  “This is the last thing I’ll ask of you,” he said, walking along the grated walkway, “And you can say no, if you’d like.”_

_“Does it make a difference if I do?” Meika said, “Don’t I know too much for you to let me live?”_

_Tatara’s stops at the end of the pier and turns to face her, red eyes glinting in the low light from town.  “That might be true,” he said quietly, “You’d have to hide.  If you’re well enough hidden that the CCG can’t find you, then I probably won’t be able to, either.”_

_The look in his eyes made her shiver.  “You’re lying.  You’d find me.”_

_“I can’t be sure of that.”  He paused.  “Though it’s likely I would.  I doubt I’ll ever forget your scent.”_

_“That bad, huh?”_

_“It’s not bad at all.”_

_Meika felt a rush of air behind her and turns, nearly stumbling backwards when she found the ghoul from earlier, who pointed out the direction of the subway, standing within arm’s reach.  Tatara walked over to him and said something too low for Meika to hear, and though the ghoul made no movements or indication he’d heard, Tatara turned back to Meika again._

_“There’s a smuggling operation that ferries ghouls the long way around, through the Yellow Sea and into China,” he explained, “I can book us passage when the ship comes tonight.”_

_“You’ll leave me here until then?” Meika asked, “By myself, out in the open, where anybody could see me and call the police, or the doves?”_

_“Not by yourself.  With Noro.”  Tatara glanced over at the silent ghoul, who slightly tilted his head, looking a bit like a curious bird._

_“You want me to wait.”  Meika looked down at the pier beneath her feet, staring at the water that ran under it, a steady current out into the ocean.  “You know I’ve been waiting for a long time.  My whole life, really.  I waited for someone to find us when I was little.  I didn’t know who we were hiding from then, just that we were hiding.  I knew I couldn’t be Mingxia anymore, and I had to be somebody else.  I waited, but nobody ever found us, and somehow, that was worse.  I waited for Hagi to eat me, or get sick of me, but he never did.  I waited for mom to come home.”  Her voice cracks and she takes a deep breath.  “I keep waiting for these things that never happen, and I’m tired of it.”_

_Tatara didn’t move, but she thought she saw sympathy on his face.  She could have been imagining it.  “This is the last time I’ll ask that of you,” he said, voice solemn and words a promise, “Just a little longer.  Please.”_

_Meika held the quinque in one hand and clenched the other into a fist at her side.  She met his eyes.  “This is the last time,” she said._

_Tatara swept forward, reaching for his mask.  “The last time,” he nodded in agreement, and he sounded almost mournful.  With the lower half of his face revealed, Meika again glimpsed the man she fell in love with all too soon, and pressed one of her hands to his cheek as she gazed up at him, wanting to remember this._

_Tatara placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, both of her eyelids, the tip of her nose, and then her lips, holding there the longest.  She opened her eyes and he was putting his mask back on, disappearing beneath the red and becoming unreachable yet again._

_“Wait for me,” he said as he left, and with the promise of change on the horizon, Meika reluctantly said that she would._

*

She doesn’t really owe him anything, she decides, but she thinks she owes it to herself.  She may never get the chance to go ever again, and if she wants to disappear, she could always leave China for somewhere else on the Asian continent.  She could stay in Chengdu for a while, leave if things got bad, keep moving west until she found a place where everyone would leave her alone.

Of course, her plan is dependent on escaping Tatara, and she isn’t convinced that he’ll actually let her go when the time comes.  That gives her only one other option.

“Mingxia.”

Meika startles to attention, scooting back from the edge of the pier to stand up.  She hasn’t been keeping track of time, so she doesn’t know how long it’s been, but Tatara has returned, dried blood clinging to the edges of his cloak.  “The ship should be here soon,” he says.

Noro is gone, but she isn’t sure when he left.  Tatara comes to stand beside her, gazing out at the ocean with something like longing in his eyes.  Meika glances at him out of the corner of her eye, holding onto the quinque tightly.

He isn’t going to let her go.  She’s almost certain.  Perhaps it’s sentiment, or a feeling of frustration that he’s developed feelings for her, as well, or just a sense of duty, that loyalty he owes Aogiri Tree, but she knows she won’t be walking away.  Hiding won’t be possible if she doesn’t even get the chance to run.

She’s going to have to kill him.

Tatara is a ghoul, and by that very definition, stronger than a human, occupying a higher rung on the food chain.  Fighting him would be suicide; she’d have to take him by surprise, but even then, she wonders if his reflexes will be faster.  She wonders if she can catch him the next time he tries to kiss her, or maybe while he’s sleeping….

She rubs the back of her hand over her face, trying to clear away fresh tears.  _You have to,_ she tells herself, _you have to do this.  This is part of surviving, like everything else you’ve done up to now.  You have to kill him, or he’s going to kill you._

She glances over at Tatara, and is surprised to find one, lone tear escaping his eye, sliding down beside his nose, but he turns away, pretending to adjust his sleeves, and it’s gone when she looks again.

 _One of us,_ she thinks, _is going to die in Chengdu._

A small ship sails over the horizon, slowly gliding up to the pier.  Its destination is Home, but the sight of it fills Meika with dread.

*

They’re huddled below deck in a circle of ghouls, men and women, young and old.  Some of them look around uneasily, as though expecting a dove to be on board, or for one of the passengers to lunge at them.  Others are listless, lying on their sides or curled up against the walls, looking like they might not survive the journey. 

A man opens a satchel he carries, and begins handing carefully wrapped packages around the circle.  They smell sharp like copper and sweetly rancid.  Tatara takes one, pulling his mask off.  Meika averts her eyes when she hears him take a bite, but tells herself to look, hoping she can make herself understand what he is.

His teeth sink into the soft mound of bloodied flesh he holds, scarlet coating his lips and chin.  He notices her staring and turns his back to her as he finishes. 

 _He’s eating meat.  Human meat,_ Meika thinks, _That should mean something to me.  That should scare me._

But even as she looks at him now, catching just the back of his head, white hair and a pale ear, shoulders hunched, she can’t muster up the feelings she wants to have.

The gentle murmuring of water splashing off of the boat, of waves in the distance and the subtle rocking, lull Meika to sleep more than once, and she finds herself slipping in and out of consciousness.  She wakes once to the feeling of fingers gently carding through her hair and finds her head resting in Tatara’s lap.  He’s speaking to one of the other passengers, voice low to keep from disturbing her, and he’s speaking in Mandarin.  She only catches a few words before she’s asleep again.

*

_“Buddhists aren’t supposed to drink.”_

_Meika is twelve and sitting at the dinner table, pushing around leftovers with her chopsticks.  Her mother sits across from her with nothing but a half-empty bottle of plum sake.  The calendar is on the wall behind her, the pink lotus blossom bravely facing the sky above the rows of numbers.  They don’t even own that calendar yet, nor is it in the kitchen, but it’s always there in Meika’s dreams, in every room, on every wall, always stuck on January._

_“You drink all the time,” Meika says._

_Her mother is smiling.  She looks relaxed, maybe even peaceful.  It’s been a long time since she’s seen an expression like that on anyone.  “I know,” she says, “So you have to stop me.”  Her cheeks are already flushed and her gaze is unfocused.  Meika frowns._

_“Why do I have to stop you?  Why can’t you stop yourself?”_

_“I should,” her mother agrees, “But I can’t.  I already know I’m going to drink.  If I were a better mother, I would stop myself, but I know I can’t.”_

_Meika’s gaze softens.  “You’re not a bad mother.”_

_Her mother just smiles that tranquil smile.  “You’re going back to Chengdu.”_

_Meika nods.  She’s older now; she’s gone to high school, dropped out, opened a hair salon in the 11 th ward and earned a reputation with the local ghouls.  She’s lost a lot, lost people and things, lost hope; it shows on her face.  She looks at her mother across the table, and she sees not tranquility but hopelessness, a quiet acceptance of her fate.  Her eyes are empty and her smile is meaningless.  She feels like she’s staring into a mirror._

_“That’s good,” her mother says, “I always wished you could go.  I wished I could take you.”_

_“I wish we could have gone together.  I feel lost without you.”_

_“You weren’t any better when I was there.”_

_“Ah.”  Meika doesn’t disagree._

_“You’re not going alone,” her mother says, “You’re going with someone.  A ghoul.”_

_“The ghoul who’s responsible for your death.”_

_“But you still love him.”_

_Meika looks down at the table.  “I still love him.”_

_“And you plan to kill him.”_

_“I have to.  A lot has been taken from me, but not my will to live.  Somehow, I’ve always been able to hold onto that.”_

_The chair across from her is empty, and she realizes she’s been talking to herself the entire time.  The lotus on the wall calendar has vanished, leaving white space, and Meika realizes the month has changed to February._

_She feels someone standing behind her, and somehow, she knows it’s Tatara, but she can’t move her body to turn and look at him.  She feels his hands rest on her shoulders._

_“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” she asks._

_He doesn’t answer.  One of his hands rises, fingertips gently brushing against the flesh of her throat, and wraps around the front, gripping tightly.  She gasps, struggling to breathe, but she still can’t move her body._

_“I won’t let you,” she chokes, “It won’t be this easy,” but she doesn’t fight back even as she says it, even as her eyes shut and she feels herself slipping away._

*

The next time she wakes up, Tatara is watching her face intently.  He helps her sit upright and takes a plastic-wrapped rice ball from his coat, misshapen from pressure put upon it.  “Are you hungry?” he asks quietly.  She glances around, but doesn’t see the other passengers.  He follows her gaze.  “The others are above deck.  Another vessel hasn’t been seen for some time, so we were told we could get fresh air.”

She takes the food silently.

“You know, you,” he pauses, “Talk in your sleep.”

“Do I?” she scoffs, “Guess I’m not surprised.  I was told I cry in my sleep, too.”

“You asked if I was going to kill you.”

She eats the rice ball in a couple of bites, licking leftover rice from her fingers and picking some from the wrapper.  “What makes you think I was talking to you?”

“Just a hunch, I guess.”

Meika crumples the plastic into a small ball.  “In my dream,” she says, “You strangled me.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“That’s what I thought.  You’d do something that would kill me faster, so I wouldn’t suffer as much.”

He doesn’t reply.

“But maybe you should make it hurt,” she murmurs, leaning her head against his shoulder, “Maybe, then, I could really hate you.”  She closes her eyes.  “You should eat me, Tatara.”

He stiffens at the word.  “I promised you I wouldn’t do that.”

“What if that’s what I want?”

“Is that really what you want?” he asks, “You really want to die that way?”

Meika listens to the waves lapping at the boat and sea birds crying out somewhere above them, the language of the ocean.  “I don’t want to die at all,” she says hoarsely.

Tatara rests a hand on her shoulder, like in the dream, but it stays there, rubbing along her arm soothingly.  She thinks, at the very least, he won’t lie to her for the rest of the journey.  He wants to be honest, so he doesn’t tell her that it’ll be okay, that he’ll let her go, that she doesn’t have to die.

He says nothing at all, which is still its own kind of lie, but Meika lets it go.  She’s lying, too, by keeping her own secret, fingers pale as they clench the knife quinque below her cloak. 


	19. Chapter 19

The ship stops another day later, settling near the shore under the cover of darkness.  Meika can’t feel any difference between when the boat was moving and when it stops, but the other passengers suddenly becomes restless and Tatara wordlessly stands and offers a hand to help her up.  “How far are we from home?” she asks.

“We have a ways to go yet.”

“Oh.”  Meika struggles to her feet even when holding onto Tatara’s steady arm.  “I’m not sure you’re going to have to kill me,” she mutters with a bitter laugh, “I don’t feel so good.”

His attention is on her instantly, holding onto her shoulders as he carefully examines her.  “You feel sick?”

“I haven’t eaten a proper meal in,” she hesitates, then shakes her head, laughing.  She can’t even remember.  “I’m not sure I can even walk all that well.”

“Here, then.”  Tatara turns away from her and kneels.  “Climb on.”

Meika almost laughs, but she realizes he’s serious.  “Tatara, you can’t carry me all the way there.”

He glances back over his shoulder at her, one brow raised. 

 _Of course he can,_ she thinks, and despite a twinge of embarrassment, she comes forward, putting her legs on either side of him and leaning her weight against his back.  She lets out a startled yelp when Tatara suddenly stands to his full height, holding her legs steady, and then relaxes when she realizes he isn’t going to drop her. 

“You’ve lost a lot of weight,” he says.

Meika laughs.  “Thanks.”

“That’s not a good thing.  You’re malnourished.”

She leans her head against his shoulder and lets her eyelids fall shut.  “What, you didn’t notice I’ve been eating nothing but rice balls?”

Tatara doesn’t answer right away.  “I’m sorry,” he says.  Meika is too tired to reply.

She wants to be able to take in the sight of her homeland, even at night, but she can hardly keep her eyes open.  She smells salt in the air when Tatara climbs above deck, hears the nervous muttering of the other passengers and the captain giving instructions in Mandarin first, and then broken Japanese.  She understands most of it the first time around, warnings to keep their head low and threatening them to keep quiet about how they got to China in the first place.

Tatara clears the space between the deck and the sandy shore in a single leap, and Meika feels wind when he starts to run.  He speaks to her in a low, soothing voice, telling her he intends to stop somewhere soon, and she falls asleep to the sound.

If she dreams, she doesn’t remember it.

*

Meika wakes to the sound of lively chatter and slowly opens her eyes, squinting when she sees sunlight.  She’s sore and starving, but she feels soft blankets and a pillow under her head, and is reluctant to move.

“Give up on Tokyo,” she hears, a heated conversation in Mandarin, “Look what that place has done to you.  Why don’t you just stay here?”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can.  What’re you doing over there, anyway, besides making a mess?”

“We’ve heard all about Aogiri Tree, you know.  I don’t normally speak ill of the dead, but I raised most of you kids, so I feel like I can say it; Chi She Lian was a foolish thing.  Don’t make the same mistake twice and get caught up in something like that again.”

Meika slowly sat up and peeled the covers off of herself, bracing herself against the wall to stand as the other room went completely silent.

“That’s going a little far,” someone mutters, “He just got back, didn’t he?  We can be a little nicer.”

“He won’t be here long.”

“But, Father—!”

Meika reaches the open doorway of the bedroom and finds herself meeting the stares of Tatara and two strangers.  She holds onto the doorway, smiling sheepishly as she stammers through words in her native tongue.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

One of the strangers, an old man with a heavy tan and gray, thinning hair, looks at Tatara with a frown.  “Are you going to tell us who she is now?” he asks, as though Meika isn’t even in the room, “You told me not to jump to conclusions, but that’s what I’m going to do if you walk in here with a human on your back and no explanation whatsoever.”  

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” the other person says, smiling.  She’s younger than the man but older than Tatara, deep creases in her face running diagonally from her eyes; Meika thinks her mother would be about her age right now.  She can tell from the similarities in their faces that she’s related to the man. “He fancies a human.  Just like Bao did.”

The old man’s eyes narrow.  “It isn’t as simple as that, though, is it?”

Meika feels uncomfortable, like she shouldn’t be there, but Tatara looks at her, and her voice catches in her throat when she realizes he isn’t wearing his mask.  He’s dressed differently, too, a black hooded jacket and sweat pants.  “I knew you’d be skeptical of my motives, so I wanted to wait until she was awake to give her side of the story.”  Hesitantly, Meika comes forward, standing beside the table where they’re all seated.  “This is Mingxia,” Tatara says solemnly, “Daughter of Lin Zhou.”

Neither of the strangers speak.  The woman presses her hands to her mouth, looking as though she’s going to cry, and the old man looks up at her with sadness in his eyes.  “Sit down, please,” he says, and Meika does as she’s told, settling down beside Tatara and staring at him in confusion. 

“These two are Tao,” Tatara says, gesturing to the man first, “And Hualing,” and then the woman.

“I can’t believe it,” Hualing says on the verge of tears, “You really are alive.”

Meika looks at Tatara questioningly.

He smiles at the floor and climbs to his feet.  “How about I make you some food?”

“Tatara, wait,” she says urgently, but he leaves her there, staring at the woman and the old man at a loss for words.  They look back at her with pity. 

“He hasn’t told you anything, has he?” Tao asks.

Meika shakes her head weakly.

“Then, maybe I should start at the beginning.”

Meika smells something cooking in the next room and her stomach growls, but she ignores it. 

“A long time ago,” Tao says, “Three boys showed up on my doorstep, none of them older than ten years old.  They said they’d run all the way from Chengdu because their parents had been killed, and they were told to seek out ghouls in the country.  I had lost my wife long before that to ghoul hunters and had struggled to raise the two children she left behind alone.  I didn’t have the patience for another three.”  He pauses.  “But I’m a father.  I couldn’t just turn them away.”

“One of those boys was Tatara?” Meika asks.

“Yes,” Hualing says, “But his name wasn’t Tatara yet.”

“What…?”

“It’s his name now,” Tao says firmly, “It’s the one he took when he was disowned.”

Meika bites down any further questions at his harsh tone. 

“But it wasn’t like that at first,” he continues, voice softening again, “He was always doing his best to help with the chores and even went out to find work with my son.  The two of them caught fish and plowed fields for the nearest village.  When I told him that he could only eat dead humans from now on, he didn’t argue.”

“Only dead humans?” Meika asks when he pauses. 

“Yes.  We’re Buddhist, you see.  I fast for as long as I can, and get by on coffee beans.  If I have to eat, I eat only the dead.  It sounds strange, doesn’t it, for ghouls to follow Buddhism?”

“He mentioned being brought up Buddhist, actually.”

“Did he?”  Tao smiles. 

“But what happened?” Meika prompts, “How did he become…?”

“Chi She Lian.”  Tao says the name like a curse.  “They preyed on the lingering resentment young ghouls have for humans.  Those who have lost close friends or family are particularly susceptible.”

“But don’t you resent humans?”

“I don’t.”  He looks away.  “If we all resent one another, then we will continue to hurt one another, and the cycle of violence will continue.  The only way to end it is through forgiveness.”

 _Spoken like a true Buddhist,_ Meika thinks. 

“I taught Tatara better than to lash out in anger,” Tao says, “But I know there has always been doubt lingering in the back of his mind.  He wishes he’d been stronger.  He wishes he could have protected his family, or been able to fight back instead of running away.  That’s why he won’t back down anymore.  If he wants to do something, then he does it.”  He shakes his head.  “I lost all of my sons to Chi She Lian; my own flesh and blood, Bao, and the three boys who I took in.  Hualing was the only one who stayed even though I knew she wanted to go.  She felt too guilty to leave me all alone.”

The woman puts a hand on her father’s shoulder, squeezing in reassurance.

“They wanted revenge.  They attacked human cities, slaughtering civilians and government agents recklessly.  They wanted to shed as much blood as possible in the hopes that it would fill the void left behind by those they had lost, but it would never be enough.”

Tatara returns then, an aromatic bowl of soup in hand, and sets it down before Meika, telling her, “There’s more, if you’d like.”

She eyes it cautiously.  “What’s in it?”

“Not human meat, if that’s what you’re asking,” he says dryly, sitting beside her.  “Chicken and corn.  Tao always keeps some human food on hand for guests.”

Meika stares down at the yellow broth but eventually takes the spoon and tries a bite.  Her eyes widen in surprise.  “It’s good,” she says, glancing at him, “How do you know how to cook?”

“For guests,” he repeats.

Hualing chuckles.  “I taught all of them how when we were young, but only Tatara was ever any good at it.  It’s hard for us because just smelling it is nauseating; you have to plug your nose and follow the recipe exactly.”

Meika gulps down nearly half the soup in a minute, relishing the taste of food—good food—but she notices Tao scrutinizing Tatara from across the table.  “This is why you brought her here, isn’t it?” he asks, “You think this makes up for what you did.  You think you can clear your karma.”

Tatara doesn’t look at him.

Tao slams his fist on the table and Meika jumps.  “After everything you’ve done, you think you deserve her forgiveness?” he shouts.

Meika stops eating.  Tatara still doesn’t speak.

“Father, please,” Hualing says softly.  Her father’s eyes have gone black and red, the veins around them strained and showing through his skin.

Without his mask to hide it, Meika sees the tenseness on Tatara’s face, lips stretched thin and eyes narrowed, staring at a spot on the wall.  “I don’t expect her to forgive me,” he says quietly, “I’m just tying up loose ends.  She knows too much about my current organization for me to let her go.”

Tao is on his feet in an instant, a snake-like tendril curling around him from behind, the tip pointed like a sword’s blade, and Tatara stands to stare him down.  Meika’s eyes widen and she backs away from the table.

“Stop it!” Hualing cries, coming up between them.  Meika watches her eyes darken and something like tails snaking out around her waist, pushing on Tao and Tatara and keeping them apart.  “Stop, both of you.  I can’t even remember the last time the two of you were able to be in the same room without fighting.”  She looks at her father.  “Tatara is still family, and we need to listen to what he has to say.”  She looks back Tatara.  “And you need to tell her the truth.  You owe her that, at the very least.”

“That’s why I came here,” Tatara says, though he’s still glaring at Tao.

Finally, they both sit down again, and Meika slowly draws closer when she thinks it’s safe. 

Tatara glances at her.  “Many years ago, the Chinese government began cracking down on Chi She Lian,” he says, "Your mother sheltered some of the members when that started.”

Meika nods.  “You told me that already.”

“Yes, but I didn’t tell you that one of those ghouls became rather attached to her.”

The way he says “rather attached” and narrows his eyes makes Meika pause.  “They were in a relationship, you mean?”

“They certainly tried to be in one.”

“They did well,” Hualing interjects, shooting a glare at Tatara, “They were very similar, personality-wise, and they really were deeply in love.  He was even willing to look after Mingxia when she was just an infant.”  She looks at Meika, eyes softening with love.  “He really loved you.  We even got to meet you a few times when you were a baby.”

Meika puts two and two together quickly enough.  “It was your brother, wasn’t it?  It was Bao.”

Hualing nods.

“It was foolish of them,” Tatara says, “Bao was a wanted criminal, and Lin became one by associating with him and the others.  Eventually, the authorities closed in and she had to flee the country.  Bao died helping her escape, but she didn’t learn that until later.”

Hualing frowns.  “His death was not Lin’s fault.  Neither of them would have been in that situation if Bao had never joined Chi She Lian in the first place.”

“I know that.”

“But you didn’t then,” Tao mutters, “You blamed Lin.  You hated her for years, and that hate drove you to join Chi She Lian when you were old enough.  And then you went to Japan looking for her.”

“Wait,” Meika interrupts, “I thought you came to Japan because of the CCG?  When they worked with the Chinese government and hunted down Chi She Lian, you couldn’t stay here, right?”

Tatara looks away. 

“He went once before that,” Tao says, “To find you and your mother and kill you both.”

Meika feels her stomach twisting, remembering what Tatara had told her before.  Even then, she had given him the benefit of the doubt and assumed there was something complicated that had happened; maybe she had also “known too much,” and he’d been forced to do something.  She hadn’t thought he’d held some sort of grudge.

She hadn’t thought he’d came after her, too.

“Why didn’t you?” she asks hoarsely. 

The room falls silent.  Eventually, Tatara meets her eyes.  “I wanted revenge,” he mutters, “For Bao, for myself, and for Yan and Fei.  I wanted you both to suffer like I had.  Lin wasn’t aware of what had happened in Chengdu in her absence, so I told her.  I told her that her family had been rounded up by the government and executed for harboring ghouls.  I told her Bao had died for her, and for nothing, because she was living a meaningless life in the slums of Tokyo.  I told her she was a failure of a mother for ever getting involved with ghouls when she had a child to worry about.”  He pauses, glancing at the door to Tao’s house.  “I told her she had to atone for what she had done, so when I came back to China, she came with me.  She left you behind, came to this village, and threw herself into the sea.  You were sixteen.”

Meika swallows, choking on the millions of things she wants to say all at the same time.

“And ever since then, not a day has gone by that I don’t regret it.”  Tatara bows his head.  “I realized when I saw her body in the water that I had just taken your mother from you, like my parents were taken from me.  I thought I would be happy; that’s what I had thought I wanted.  But I realized it didn’t make me feel better.  I laid awake at night wondering what would happen to you, the child of the fugitive, never knowing what became of your mother or why she abandoned you.  When I came to Japan again, I wanted to apologize, but I couldn’t bring myself to.  Instead, I lied to you and pretended we were strangers.”

Suddenly, Tatara moves away from the table, prostrating himself on the ground with his forehead to the floor, bowing as deeply as he can.  “You are here, Mingxia, because I am begging you to forgive me.”

Meika looks down at Tatara silently for almost a minute, letting the silence stretch on.  Hualing and Tao watch her, tense, waiting for something to happen.  She feels tears bubbling up at the corners of her eyes and running down her cheeks, and she doesn’t try to stop them.  “Tatara,” she says softly, “You do not have my forgiveness.”  And then she stands up, appetite ruined, and goes back to lay down in bed in the next room, listening to Tao begin to yell and Hualing try to calm him, and a door opens and slams shut before the house falls silent again.


	20. Chapter 20

When Meika wakes up the next morning, Tao is gone and Hualing is making porridge.  “Father is praying at the temple in the village,” she says, “He’ll be back soon.”

Meika stands in the kitchen, watching her cook.  Her face is scrunched up in disgust and she tries to breathe through only her mouth.  Despite this, her hands are steady and she’s careful with the food.  “What does he pray for?”

Hualing shrugs.  “For those who’ve died,” she says, “That they find peace.”  She pauses.  “And for Tatara.”

“They haven’t gotten along since he joined Chi She Lian, right?”

She nods.   “But Tatara is still like a son to him.  He still wants him to be okay.  He’s like family to me, too.”  She smiles.  “A bad little brother, really.  I want him to be okay, too.  But I wonder if the boy we took in all those years ago even exists anymore.”  She reaches into one of the drawers and pulls out the quinque knife, and Meika’s eyes widen.  “I found it on you yesterday,” she admits, “Father would have thrown it away if he found it.”

“Why did you keep it?”

“To make sure you could hold onto it.”  She hands it to Meika, who hesitantly takes it back.  “I love my family,” she says quietly, “And you are also my family.  Bao would have gladly taken on the role of your father, had he lived long enough, and I would have loved to be your aunt.” 

Meika looks down at the knife, hands trembling.  “What are you saying?” she asks, “You _want_ me to kill him?  He’s like your brother, isn’t he?”

“Of course I don’t want you to.  I don’t want to lose any more family.”  Hualing turns away to pay attention to the porridge, and Meika thinks she sees tears forming.  She feels guilty holding the weapon, but she’s afraid to throw it away. 

A few minutes later, Hualing turns off the stove and pours a bowl of porridge.  Meika takes it gratefully but can’t meet her eyes anymore.  “You know,” Hualing says, lingering by the table, “He used to talk about moving far away from anyone.  He said he found a little village in northern Japan where there were so few people that it wouldn’t hardly matter if he were a ghoul or not.  He could just live, quietly and peacefully, and not worry about anything.  I wonder if he’s forgotten all about that dream.”

The porridge isn’t bad, but it feels heavy in Meika’s mouth, and she can’t bring herself to swallow any.  She excuses herself and rushes out the door.

She can see the coastline from the front of the house and she runs towards it over uneven hills and jagged rocks, until her feet hit the sand.  She stops when she’s up to her ankles in the water, the fraying ends of the cloak dipping in the water and gazes at the horizon where the sea opens into the ocean. 

 _Somewhere like this,_ she thinks, _Mom threw herself into the water and let the current take her._

She wonders how long it takes to drown.  Was it cold?  Was it frightening?  Did she regret it when she went under and her lungs were burning?  Meika thinks it would be a horrible way to die.

“She went the same way Koremori did.”

Meika almost stumbles in the water trying to turn around but a hand shoots out to steady her.  Tatara looms over her looking disheveled, exhaustion carved into his face around his eyes, hair growing long and uneven, dressed in street clothes that look strange on him.  Meika wants to be afraid, but she feels only sadness.  “Who?” she asks.

Tatara glances out at the water.  “Koremori, the middle captain.  Have you ever read the Tales of the Heike?”

Meika shakes her head.

“He left home to fight in the war,” Tatara says quietly, “But in every moment of every battle, his thoughts were always with the family he left behind.  The loneliness became too much to bear, and he made a pilgrimage to Mt. Koya to become a Buddhist and sever his earthly ties so he would grieve no longer.”

In that moment, Meika thinks, he looks a lot like Hualing, gaze distant, shoulders tense, voice strong despite the sadness in his words. 

“At the end of his journey,” he says, “He chanted the nenbutsu, faced west, and threw himself into the sea.  Perhaps he thought he had attained enlightenment, and he would escape the cycle of reincarnation and be reborn upon a lotus.”

“You don’t think so?”

“I’m not a Buddhist.  But I have tried to let go and forget what I hold dear.”  He looks down and meets Meika’s eyes.  “I’ve never been able to.”

Meika is the first to look away.  “Why did you bring me here?” she asks.

“Because I wanted you to hear the truth from people you would believe.  Now that you know, we still need to go the rest of the way to Chengdu.  I need to pay my respects.”

“And then?” Meika presses.

“And then I will go back to Tokyo.”

“What about me?”

Tatara doesn’t answer.

“That’s the other reason we came back, isn’t he?” she asks, “Because you want to try to sever your ‘earthly’ connections again.  Forecfully.”

“Mingxia,” he says softly, reaching for her.

Meika slaps his hand away and puts a foot more between them, stepping onto the shore.  “What right do you have to use my real name?” she shouts, “What makes you think I even want to be called that anymore?  I’ve been ‘Meika’ for so much longer than I’ve been ‘Mingxia,’ that name doesn’t even _mean_ anything anymore.  It’s not who I am!”

Tatara’s hand is still hanging in the air between them, pale fingers reaching, and he slowly lets it fall to his side.  “You’re right.  I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t…don’t apologize to me.  Not unless you mean it.”

“I do.”

Meika shakes her head.  “When do we leave for Chengdu?” she asks.

“Whenever you’d like.”

“Then let’s leave now.” 

 _I want to get this over with,_ she thinks. 

Tatara turns his back to her, staring at the water in silence.  She thinks she could stab him in the back, right now, and he wouldn’t be expecting it.  She could just walk back into the water and stand beside him like nothing’s wrong.  He wouldn’t see it coming.  It would be so easy.

But she doesn’t do it.  She stands behind him on the shore and watches him, tall and pale, like a crane standing sentinel at the edge of the water waiting for its mate to come back, even when it knows she is gone.

*

They leave without so much as a goodbye to Hualing, though Meika imagines she doesn’t want to see either of them right now.  They walk a path worn into the mountains and stop at villages along the way, doing favors for food.  Tatara carries a family’s aging grandfather to the local doctor and back in exchange for new clothes for them both, though he ends up washing the cloak in the river and taking it along rather than throwing it away. 

When a heavy rain become a monsoon, they hole up in what Meika thinks used to be a church left by missionaries centuries ago, the roof creaking with every harsh gust of wind and raindrops occasionally slipping through the roof tiles.  Tatara hasn’t spoken in a while and she can’t think of anything she wants to say, either, so she goes through the cloth sack he brought along and finds a surprise in the bottom.

Her hair supplies.

She pulls out a bottle of shampoo, combs and scissors, and clear her throat, glancing at Tatara pointedly when she gets his attention.  He only holds her gaze for a moment before he looks away, eyes full of guilt.  “Why did you bring this stuff?” she asks.

“It would’ve been thrown away if it was left at the 11th ward base.”

Meika frowns, having hoped for a better answer, though digging further through the bag she finds some of her clothes, larger ones that must belong to Tatara, and several wads of cash paperclipped together.  It almost looks as though he planned on running away.

Like he’d thought, at the beginning of the journey, that he’d let her live.

“Tatara,” she says softly, “Would you like a haircut?”

He looks surprised when he glances back at her.

“I never have before, even though you came over so often.  You never I asked, and neither did I.”  She musters a smile.  “I won’t even charge you.”

Somehow, Meika feels as though they’re performing a religious service; perhaps her last rites.  They don’t have anything to wash his hair with, so they step outside, rainwater soaking their clothes, and huddle beneath the awning.  It isn’t just the lack of normal preparation, though; neither of them speak the entire time.  Meika doesn’t feel in her element at all when she runs a comb through his hair, trying to smooth out his tangles.  Tatara keeps his eyes closed the entire time, kneeling on the ground in front of her with his head bowed, breathing so soft and slow she sometimes wonders if he’s fallen asleep.

Her hand still shakes around the handle of the knife quinque.  She thinks he must not smell it because of the rain, because he doesn’t even flinch when she takes it out of her pocket.  She stands over him, running her fingertips over his scalp, hesitating.

She takes a steadying breath.  “I heard you thought about moving out to the middle of nowhere in Hokkaido.”

He chuckles.  “Did Hualing tell you that?”

“Yeah.”  She can’t seem to move her hands, no matter how hard she tries.  She knows she’s shivering, though she tells herself it’s just the cold, the rainwater clinging to her body.  “Did you still want to?  You seem packed for a trip.”

“It was an impulsive thing to do.  I wasn’t thinking about it seriously.”

“But you brought my things.  Some of my clothes are in there.”  She waits for an explanation, but he doesn’t give one.  “Were you going to spare me?”

Tatara doesn’t answer for a moment.  The sound of rain falling just beyond the awning, turning the ground to mud, is nearly deafening.  “It was the child in me,” he says, “Thinking unreasonably and idealistically.  I thought, the best thing I could do for you, would be to find somewhere for you to go where no one would bother you, and then we could go our separate ways and live peacefully.  But I have too many responsibilities to Aogiri Tree to just run away.”

“That wouldn’t be fair anyway.”

“How do you mean?”

“You don’t deserve to live peacefully.”  Meika feels tears coming again.  She shudders, trying to take a deep breath, but she feels everything catch up to her all at once and her knees buckle as she falls to the ground.  “You don’t even deserve to die,” she says hoarsely, “That would be too lenient.  You should live and be reminded of what you did, every day, for the rest of your life.”

She knows Tatara has turned to look at her, but she can’t lift her gaze from the wet earth.  “You think so?” he asks, and she nods.  He wraps his arms around her, and she can feel his body heat even through his damp clothes.  She hugs him back.  “I know you’re right.  I know that’s what I deserve.  But I can’t accept that.”  His grip grows tighter, but Meika isn’t even afraid anymore; she’s just tired.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and sinks the knife into his flesh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come back next week for the final chapter.


	21. Chapter 21

It doesn’t make much sense for people to move to Yubari. 

The town is bankrupt and dying, the elderly outnumbering the rest as its younger residents leave for jobs and education elsewhere in Japan.  A drive into the city is a sad sight of abandoned car factories and banks, blocks of empty houses and dark storefronts.  Tourists come for melons and mountain climbing, but most of year is quiet and lonely as the population continues to shrink.

People try to tell the young woman who buys a house there in the dead of winter all of this, on a silent night when the only sound is that of snow blowing over the landscape, but she insists that Yubari is just what she’s looking for.  She chooses a little cottage at the edge of town, no neighbors for miles and a long commute into the city, but she doesn’t seem upset.  She isn’t fazed by the bleak job prospects, either, instead opening a hair salon out of her own home, and though most of Yubari stays inside on those cold nights, people claim that when they drive by that the lights are on and customers are coming in and out, long after the sun has gone down.

“What do you think?” the shopkeepers gossip, “Ghouls, maybe?  Who else is out that late?”

“What does it matter?  We aren’t like Tokyo; we don’t have a CCG office here.  Besides, if they’re willing to spend money, I say we welcome them.”

“Won’t that be awful, if it takes ghoul tourism to save the town?”

“If they actually save it, it won’t be awful at all.”

An urban legend begins circulating throughout Hokkaido that Yubari is where ghouls go for vacation, mostly as a joke by the shopkeepers who think it’s pretty funny that they get a lot more people passing through town than before, lots of Tokyoites a long way from home looking for a little peace and quiet.  The strange young lady who lives at the edge of town is the subject of more than a few rumors, but if anything, she only gets more business from curious locals. 

Akika Hisano, as she is known by those who seek her out, was a bit skinny when she first came to town with hands that shook and eyes that always darted around like she was looking for someone, but the weeks turned to months and she slowly began adjusting to the slow pace of life in Yubari.  A smile settled onto her face and never left, and some think she looks almost sage-like when she does hair, able to get anyone to relax.

Strangest of all, however, and the source of more rumors than anything else, is a regular who comes to Yubari without warning but often enough that most people know his face.  He comes on foot claiming to be passing through or on a hike, but he stops by the hairdresser’s house every time.  He’ll stand on the porch and knock twice, and those who have seen her open the door say her face lights up with so much emotion that they can’t tell if she’s going to laugh or cry.  He stays the night and leaves quietly the following day, back the way he came, and nobody sees him again for a while.

There isn’t much to talk about in Yubari, so the locals aren’t shy about talking to him when he comes in.  As he browses the aisles of a convenience store, the old woman working the register leans over the counter to watch, calling, “Back again from the big city, huh?  This is the fourth time this month, isn’t it?”

He nods.  “That’s right.”

“You know,” she says, “Most of us are pretty sure you belong to some yakuza group.”

This obviously surprises him by the way he stops, turning to look at her in surprise. 

“I’m not gonna judge you,” she says with a passive wave, “As long as you don’t bring any of your nonsense up here.  The whole town’s in debt, and we aren’t interested in taking loans from you people.”

“I’m not here for that.”

She smiles.  “Oh, I know you’re not.  You’re here to visit Ms. Hisano.  No need to pretend; we’re a small town, people notice things like that.”

“Ah.”

The woman laughs.  “You look embarrassed.”

“I didn’t realize my motives were so transparent.”

“Well, what else would someone like you be doing up here other than visiting your mistress?”

The young man chuckles, shaking his head.  “What makes you so sure I’m yakuza?”

“The way you act.  You never use an ATM while you’re here, so you’re obviously concerned about leaving a paper trail.”  She pauses to point at him.  “And that awful scar on the back of your neck.  Normal folks don’t do much that would give them something like that.”

He puts a hand on the back of his neck self-consciously, but he smiles like he’s remembering something pleasant.  “Well, I guess you’ve got a point there.”

“You be good to Ms. Hisano,” the old woman warns, “She’s a nice girl.  She might be a little odd, but we’ve taken her in as one of our own.”

“I would never hurt her.”

She squints at him silently for a moment before nodding, satisfied.  “You sound you like mean it.”

“I do.”

“If you really love her so much, shouldn’t you marry her instead of keeping her up here all by herself?”

The man shakes his head.  “She likes it up here,” he says, “And so do I.  Marriage is out of the question, though; she has a grudge against me.”

“What, and you’re hoping she’ll soften up and forgive you eventually?”

He smiles sadly.  “A man can dream.”

He buys a few packets of instant coffee, like always, and then he’s out the door with a polite nod and heading out to the little cottage at the edge of town. 

“That’s a man with a million skeletons in his closet,” the old woman says to her friends later, “But he really does love her.  I wonder what he did to make her so mad.”

*

“They tell me that the lavender fields just outside of town will bloom in a few months, and the scent is the most heavenly thing in the world, not to mention the beautiful color it makes the hills.” 

Akika Hisano sits on one side of the table drinking coffee with Tatara across from her.  “I’d like to see it,” he says.

“Come every few weeks, then.  I’m sure you’ll happen across it.”  She sets her coffee down on the table and meets his eyes.  “You know, Ms. Chino, the florist, keeps warning me about this suspicious guy wandering around town with a scar on his nape.”

Tatara chuckles.  “Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really.”  They both laugh for a moment, but it dies out into silence and then they can’t meet each other’s eyes.  “This is a nice town.”

“It is,” Akika agrees, “I see why you thought about moving here before.”

“I still think about it.” 

Akika stands up and wanders over to the window, pushing aside the curtains to look out at the untouched snow glittering outside.  She hears Tatara stand up behind her, but he doesn’t leave the table.  “It gets dark so early this time of year,” she says absently.

“I would live beyond the city limits,” she hears him say, “You wouldn’t have to worry about seeing me.”  Akika turns slightly to look at him, frowning lightly, one hand still on the cold glass behind her.  “You always get upset when I mention it.”

“I moved here to get away from the CCG and Aogiri Tree….”

“I’ve assured my colleagues you’re no longer a threat.  I can’t speak for the CCG, but I’m sure they think you’re dead by now.”

“And you,” she finishes hesitantly.

She hears Tatara come a little closer.  “Sometimes, I wish I’d thought to tell you that the best way to kill a ghoul is to aim for the kakuhou.”

“You didn’t have any reason to tell me that.  If I recall, you were surprised I’d tried to kill you at all.”

She looks up and he’s frozen just out of arm’s reach, looking down guiltily.  “I shouldn’t have been,” he says.

“Do you think you’ll ever be able to leave Aogiri Tree?”

He looks pained, hands twitching at his sides like he wants to touch her.  “If I ever want to have any peace of mind, someday, I will.”

Akika closes the space between them slowly, hands rising to cup Tatara’s face.  “If you leave them, then you could move here with me,” she says quietly, “And on the day that you can forgive yourself, I’ll forgive you, too.”

When she starts to pull away, he holds one of her hands in place with his own, closing his eyes.  “I don’t deserve that,” he says, “You should hate me.”

“Maybe,” Akika says, “But Mom brought me up to forgive people.”

“You’re not Buddhist.”

“Neither are you, but you can’t seem to shake off your upbringing, either.”

Tatara presses his forehead to hers, breathing deeply.  “You shouldn’t worry about karma,” he says, “As far as I’m concerned, Meng was right; you and your mother are the closest things to bodhisattvas I’ve ever met.  You rose up like the lotus out of the mud, despite everything.”

“I’m not a lotus,” Akika says, “I’m just…someone who’s changed her name a lot now to avoid the authorities.  That’s the furthest thing from a bodhisattva.”

Tatara cuts off any further protests with a kiss.

Outside, fresh snow is falling, and the clouds are moving south across Japan.  In a few days, there will be snow in Tokyo, a blanket of white that will fall over the ugly scars left behind by the conflict in the 11th ward.  Come spring, an empty apartment unit will be cleaned and rented out to someone new, and rumors about the former tenant, Meika Kuno, will finally disappear just as she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you surprised that the ending isn't horribly depressing? So am I haha. 
> 
> Thank you so, so much to all of my readers for sticking with me through this monster. It got a lot more complicated than initially intended.
> 
> (Still working on that science)


End file.
